


Compromised

by ALittleBitofThis



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aliens, Bombing, Framing, Fugitives, Human Trafficking, Hurt Peter Parker, Hydra (Marvel), Kidnapping, M/M, New York is always the victim, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Post-Spider-Man: Far From Home, Public Humiliation, Public Nudity, Terrorism, Unethical Experimentation, peter needs to stop trying to escape, probably, skippable non-con, the following tags have spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:27:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25882063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALittleBitofThis/pseuds/ALittleBitofThis
Summary: With the entire world hunting him down, Peter has gone incognito. Unfortunately for him, Hydra sees this as an opportunity to replace their Winter Soldier. No one is watching. No one is going to notice he's even gone. Brock Rumlow grabs Peter off the streets and introduces him to Hydra's new gig: harboring inter-galactic species on Earth for profit. Hydra provides the supplies that aliens need to go undetected on earth, in exchange for advances in technology and power. However, Hydra doesn't have as much control as they think, and things are going to go south if Peter can't stop it.There's non-con of Rumlow/Peter, as Rumlow is Peter's handler, but I'm going to put notes in so you can skip it if that's not your cup of tea.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Brock Rumlow, Peter Parker/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 26
Kudos: 59





	1. Found Ya

**Author's Note:**

> (This chapter has non-con. If you want to skip that, I'll put a summary at the end.)

Spider-Man scanned the dumpster in the darkened alleyway, looking to see what scraps he might be able to find. It was demeaning, having to look through scraps for his food, but his body just consumed too many calories, and he was losing weight unhealthily quick. With a fugitive status, his most likely cause of death might actually be starvation. Peter found one of the pizza boxes that had some weight to it (there was a pizza parlor on this block) and shook it. He sat on the edge of the dumpster, trying to ignore the flies that tickled his neck. The tickling confused his hungry brain, enough that he didn’t feel his Spider-sense go off.

Peter cried out in surprise as something pricked his neck. He lost his balance, and when he hit the dark concrete, the dart ripped out of his neck and clattered away. Peter put his hand to his neck. He could feel something in his bloodstream. Shit. That wasn’t good.

Footsteps were coming closer, and a pair of strong hands latched onto the boy. Peter gasped as one hand twisted his arm behind his back, and the other hand grabbed the neck of his uniform, lifting him up and shoving him against the wall with surprising force. He tried to push back against it, but it was like he was trapped in a vice. Who was enhanced and had drugs? Peter started to ask. “Who--”

“Guess who,” A voice purred in his ear. Peter flinched, struggling anew. He pushed against the wall this time, but with the weakness of hunger, exhaustion, and drugs, Peter was no match for him. Fighting back would be a waste of energy until he gave the drugs a few minutes to wear off.

“Rumlow,” Peter gasped. He turned his head against the brick and tried to see Rumlow’s face, but they’d both chosen this alley for its lack of light, so Peter couldn’t make much out. “What d’you want?”

“Well, I saw the news, and I thought ‘huh, what a wonderful opportunity to have you’,” Rumlow chuckled. “No one will notice you’re missing if you were already gone.”

“I’m pretty sure I’d know if I was missing,” Peter shot back. However, he knew Rumlow was right. Peter had been off the grid for weeks, and not many people had spotted him. He’d had to peel back the crime-stopping when the police started to stage fake muggings as traps.

“No one cares what you want. Not now,” Rumlow teased. Peter opened his mouth to speak but closed it when Rumlow reached up to pull off Peter’s mask. When Peter’s cheek found the brick again, it was his bare skin. Rumlow’s hand fit between the wall and Peter’s chest, and he attached something to the logo on his front. The suit loosened, and Peter tensed to try to keep it from falling off his shoulders. His free hand grabbed the front of it to keep it up.

“What are you doing?” Peter demanded. Rumlow grabbed the back of his collar, pulling the top of the suit down until Peter’s trapped arm stopped it.

“Move, and that wall’s going to give you a concussion,” Rumlow warned. He switched his grip on Peter’s wrist, and as expected, Peter lunged to the side. Rumlow caught the side of Peter’s face with his hand and slammed it into the brick. An explosion of bright lights and shapes colored Peter’s vision, and when he made anything out through the static again, he realized that Rumlow had handcuffed him. The suit’s top half wouldn’t fully come off due to the cuffs on his wrists, so when Peter yanked his hands apart, the suit was the only thing that kept the metal from cutting into his pale skin.

“Mmm, that metal’s not of this world, brat,” Rumlow said easily. Peter narrowed his eyes. How did Rumlow have alien metal? Rumlow continued to pull the suit down, the fabric bunching between Peter’s forearms. Peter felt the night air against his lower back.

“Hey, there’s no need to strip me,” Peter said. He was still trying to figure out exactly why Rumlow was out here drugging him, and Rumlow was only making less sense as they went. Peter tried to push back against Rumlow again, but the drugs only seemed to be setting in more, not getting pushed out of his system. Rumlow probably wanted the tech in his suit, even if he didn’t have E.D.I.T.H. with him. “The web shooters come off,” Peter admitted, although he immediately regretted it. He shouldn’t just hand things over, but he needed some sort of clothes. Rumlow paused briefly and moved his hand to unlatch Peter’s web shooters. They fell to the ground, but Rumlow didn’t let go of his arms.

“Good to know,” Rumlow said. With the suit loosened, Rumlow slipped a hand into Peter’s uniform and found his boxer briefs. He slipped his fingers under the band. Peter jumped in surprise, but Rumlow shoved a knee into the elastic material collecting between his thighs. Peter’s throat grew thick. He wouldn’t… A zipper came undone.

“Whoa, whoa!” Peter’s eyes grew wide in shock, and he thrashed in Rumlow’s grip. “What the fuck?! You don’t have to-- why would you--” Rumlow grabbed the back of the teenagers neck to pin him against the wall. He pulled Peter’s hands back and up, restricting his upper body. “Rumlow! Mr. Rumlow. I- Wait--”

“Rumlow, please! You don’t have to do this!” Peter whimpered. He felt guilt seep into his chest. It was too early to beg. Much too early. But he was weakened, and he’d been drugged, and Rumlow wasn’t on super-steroids the last time they met. It wasn’t like Peter wasn’t struggling. He  _ was _ . He was  _ trying _ , but his legs felt weak, and his muscles lagged behind his brain.

“Oh, but I want to,” Rumlow chuckled. Not one to break his own toys, Rumlow sucked on two of his gloved fingers and then pressed one against Peter’s ass. Peter cringed at the weird, wet feeling, and he tried to move, but his short bursts of movement seemed to get him nowhere. Peter could feel the seam of the leather glove catch on the soft flesh of his asshole, and he tipped his hips forward, into the wall. The finger just followed.

“Rumlow,” Peter choked out. He didn’t know what else to say. The man never listened to anyone. He got what  _ he _ wanted, and Peter was in no state to fight back.

“ _ Parker _ ,” Rumlow acknowledged. He pressed his finger forward, and the tip of the glove went in without too much resistance. Peter whimpered and shifted against the wall. It was getting harder to stay up, and he didn’t know if it was his ass, fear, or whatever poison was flowing through his veins. Rumlow pushed his finger in further, and Peter could feel the uneven surface of separate pads on the tactical glove. They were meant to give Rumlow better grip, and that didn’t go with fingering anyone smoothly. Peter let out a shaky breath, knowing this was gonna hurt. As Rumlow drew his finger out, Peter could feel those pads catching the flesh inside of him and trying to drag it out until the friction lost its grip.

That became all he could focus on as Rumlow set a steady pace of finger-fucking Peter, an almost robotic motion that couldn’t care less about how Peter’s body clenched down in protest or how he tried to loosen the grip on the back of his neck.

“Stop fighting it. You know you’ll enjoy it,” Rumlow purred. Peter shook his head in denial. No. He wouldn’t like it. Rumlow pressed his second finger in alongside the first, stretching Peter’s hole uncomfortably. Peter tried to adjust his stance, to make it less awkward, but it ended with him spreading his legs more. Rumlow chuckled and took it as an invitation to scissor him more aggressively.

It wasn’t long before Rumlow found Peter’s prostate. A jerk and a bitten-off yelp made it unmistakable. The grip of the pad felt foreign as it dragged his insides around, pressing against his prostate in new ways that both disturbed and aroused the young superhero. Pete could feel himself getting hard against the wall. “Rumlow, stop. Stop, please,” Peter pleaded. He didn’t want this to go further.

“ _ Stop, please _ ,” Rumlow mocked. He kissed below Peter’s ear. “Oh no, baby. I’m just getting started.” With that, he forced a third finger into the mix, drawing groans from the unmasked menace. Before the third finger was sliding in and out easily though, Rumlow withdrew his hand.

Something smacked his ass, and Peter jumped in surprise, but Rumlow held him in place. Peter pressed his forehead against the wall, trying to calm down enough to negotiate. Okay, okay… he still had a finger to go, he thought, although his thoughts themselves were becoming blurry. It felt like Rumlow was messing with his uniform, trying to get it out of the way. Peter just needed a reason for the man to let him go. Any reason. At least something to stall with.

He felt the tip of Rumlow’s cock rubbing between his cheeks, and he froze. “Wait, you—“

“I don’t want you  _ loose. _ I just don’t want you to rip my dick off,” Rumlow explained. He nibbled on the lobe of Peter’s other ear, causing Peter to switch which side of his face was pressed against the bricks. “What’s the point of fresh meat, if not tight?”

“I’m not—“ Peter inhaled sharply as Rumlow forced the tip of his cock into Peter’s ass, stretching him almost to the point of pain. Almost. It didn’t start hurting until Rumlow pressed in the rest of the way, forcing Peter’s insides open until his balls rested against Peter’s ass. Peter hissed in pain as Rumlow ground his hips against Peter’s.

Rumlow didn’t seem to care, pulling out and pushing back in. He savored the slow drag of Peter’s ass on his cock, and he completed several slow, meticulous strokes before pausing.

“Make as much noise as you want,” Rumlow murmured. “But if you draw the cops to us, that’s much more your problem than mine.” Peter ducked his head. This was one of the calmer parts of town, so shouts wouldn’t be ignored, and Peter didn’t think he could escape a full police chase right now. He couldn’t make any noise that drew attention, especially with the idea that it might make Rumlow proud. Rumlow tightened his grip in preparation.

Rumlow snapped his hips up, and Peter grunted. He quickly cut himself off, but small whimpers forced their way from his throat as Rumlow fucked him against the wall, pulling his hips back with his uniform only to thrust him into the brick.

The stretch burned, but Rumlow only moaned as he fucked Peter vigorously. Rumlow pushed Peter’s hips upward, and he found his prostate again, hammering it so that Peter couldn’t help but get tighter. It hurt. He didn’t think he could take it. Peter whined.

“Stop. It hurts! I don’t—“ A slap on the ass shut him up.

“Don’t worry, doll. I’m almost there,” Rumlow said, but Peter didn’t know if it was bragging, teasing, or just plain facts. Either way, it only made him struggle more, which only made Rumlow hold him tighter and fuck him more vigorously. Peter desperately wanted to get away or at least get him  _ out _ so that he didn’t come inside, but he was thoroughly pinned.

Rumlow pressed his forearm against Spider-Man’s back, his hand forcing Peter’s face further forward. Peter felt the rough grit of the brick scratching his face. “Stop!” Peter tried, just one more time. He squeezed down around Rumlow, hoping it might hurt him.

Instead, Rumlow came. The extra pressure had pulled him over the edge, and the agent swore under his breath, thrusting a few more times before pressing his entire body against Peter’s, making them flush against the wall. The disgusting cum burned his ass, and Peter sagged against the wall in defeat.

Rumlow waited for his cock to stop pulsing and throbbing inside of his itsy bitsy spider before he both pulled out of and released Peter, who tried to catch himself, but had no hands to do so. Peter rolled onto his side on the ground. His stomach churned, and he wasn’t sure that he could trust himself to stand. Peter wasn’t even sure if he’d been standing or if Rumlow had been holding him up the whole time. Still, he refused to look up at Rumlow, to let him see the pained tears on his face.

“What— what did you give me?” Peter asked, raising a shaky hand to check his neck.

“Well for one, a good fuck. And also, there was the enhanced sedative,” Rumlow said casually. Peter shook his head, not wanting to believe him. Rumlow approached and threaded his glove in Peter’s hair. Peter tensed, preparing his little bit of strength to fight if necessary.

“Here comes another,” Rumlow said. It took Peter a long moment to process the words, and by the time he did, the needle was already leaving his neck. Shit. Peter felt a second wave of weakness hitting him, taking him down. It was hard to hold his head up. Rumlow knelt in front of Peter, who struggled to make sense of him.

“Why?” Peter slurred.

“You’re mine now, Parker,” Rumlow growled into his ear. “Welcome to the show.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for non-con skippers, Rumlow pretty much just knocked Peter out afterward


	2. HYDRA Never Dies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter wakes up and gets acquainted with his new situation.

Peter woke up to something hitting his face repeatedly, not painfully, but not gently either. Peter groaned and tried to turn his face away. The hitting stopped. Peter cracked his eyes open to blinding lights and blinked to clear his vision. Rumlow was there, pulling his hand back.

“Good, you were sleeping too long,” Rumlow said. Peter squinted and looked for his hands, which were trapped above his head. His suit was back in its proper place. They were in a room, but it didn’t look like a cell so much as a normal room. The walls were bleak, but there was a desk, a dresser, a side table, and the bed that Peter was on. Peter’s eyes flickered to a weapon rack next to the desk. Rumlow snapped in his face to get his attention. Peter frowned.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have drugged me,” He refuted.

“Yeah,” Rumlow scoffed. Peter looked at him for only a moment longer before pulling at his handcuffs with all his strength. They didn’t break. Rumlow looked bored. “I told you, it’s not earth-metal.”

“Where else?” Peter puffed, confused and frustrated.

“Some planet. I just grabbed our strongest option,” Rumlow responded.

“From the purple asshole?” Peter demanded. That was the best guess he had-- Thanos, but the thought scared him. Thanos was why Tony was dead. If Tony was alive, the attack on London wouldn’t have happened, and Peter probably wouldn’t be here. If Tony was alive, Peter might think that someone was coming to get him. He’d have to fight his own way out, now. He searched the room for a pair of keys, but Rumlow came closer, blocking his vision.

“No. From Hydra,” Rumlow answered.

“Hydra’s bad,” Peter said, not remembering much about them, except that the Avengers had defeated them in 2016. Rumlow just looked annoyed.

“I’m not going to debate with you. I had enough of Cap’s morality with S.H.I.E.L.D,” Rumlow said. Peter frowned, trying to recall more facts. Rumlow’s face had scarring across one side. Rumlow was the cause of the explosion in Nigeria. He was a terrorist that hadn’t gone away, and Spider-Man had faced Crossbones before the blip. He’d heard of him after. Peter lurched his body off the bed, hoping he would pull whatever was holding his handcuffs out of place. It ended with Peter’s body twisted, only half off the bed. Rumlow rolled his eyes.

Rumlow grabbed Peter’s bicep and pressed something behind him. Peter heard a beep, and then Rumlow was pulling him toward the door. Peter’s shoulder hit the metal door, and his face was pressed against a small window. Peter felt weakness in his legs, and he made a promise to himself not to fight quite yet. Outside, Peter could see that their room was one in a circle of rooms, with more floors above them and the middle of each level hollowed out. Below their level was a common space of some sort. “Look,” Rumlow said. “You can fight if you want, but even if you make it out of this room, you’re not making it out of here.”

“Is that a challenge?” Peter asked. Rumlow pressed a hand between his shoulders.

“Look closer,” He ordered. Peter did- just out of curiosity, not because he was told to do it. He forced his eyes to focus on the forms moving below them, and he had to assess if he was still drugged. A lot of the people- or beings- below them didn’t look  _ human _ . They were different colors and shapes and races and-

“Aliens?” Peter asked.

“Foreigners,” Rumlow corrected. “We give them what they need to investigate Earth in exchange for following guidelines. You’re here to help us keep them following said guidelines.”

“No,” Peter refused. “I’m not helping you.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“I won’t,” Peter promised. Rumlow snaked his hand around Peter’s neck, forcing his chin up so that he had to look back at him.

“You’re mine. I’ve claimed you. And you have nowhere else to go. I could sell you to foreigners for experimentation, but I haven’t done that. What do you think you should say?”

“Fuck you,” Peter hissed. Rumlow smirked.

“Wrong answer.”

Rumlow yanked Peter backward by the neck and sidestepped, sending him flying into the dresser. Peter grunted and tried to get up. Rumlow kicked him in the stomach, knocking him back down. His boot collided with Peter’s face, and Peter’s drug-addled brain rattled. 

Rumlow waited for a moment to see if Peter was going to refute him before he stepped back. Peter pulled his handcuffed hands to his face, catching some of the blood that now leaked from his nose. Rumlow sighed and grabbed a washcloth from on top of the dresser. He held it out to Peter. Peter looked at him, confused, but he took it.

“I don’t want you bleeding all over this room,” Rumlow grumbled. Peter looked up at him. He still wasn’t sure if he could fight, so he stalled.

“It’s a nice room for a prison,” Peter commented. Peter heard the nasally sound in his voice and scowled.

“It’s my room,” Rumlow said. Peter looked up at him. Why would he be in Mr. Rumlow’s room? If Hydra wanted him, he’d be alone, most likely.

“Oh. In that case, it’s a pretty shitty room,” Peter said. He felt a bit of internal pride when it earned him a glare. Peter took that bit of hope and ran with it. He couldn’t be here for Hydra, if Brock was the only one watching him here, like this. Peter leaned against the dresser for support and managed to get on his feet. Rumlow punched him in the face, knocking him back down.

“I didn’t say you could get up.”

“Screw you,” Peter huffed. He would’ve gotten up again, just out of spite, if his legs weren’t buzzing. He pressed the washcloth back to his face, feeling it get heavier with blood. He looked for his mask, but he didn’t see it anywhere. It didn’t matter. Everyone knew who he was anyway. Apparently, he was a murderer. He didn’t know what Rumlow wanted with that, and again, driven by curiosity and a need to stall, Peter asked.

“Why did you take me?” Peter asked, not meaning for it to have the double-meaning it had. Rumlow looked at the door.

“We could use a hand reinforcing the rules. It’s a shame to see an asset go wasted,” He answered simply.

“I guess you’re going to be disappointed, then,” Peter said. “I’m not helping you.”

“You will. I handled the Winter Soldier for years. I can handle a teenage brat,” Rumlow insisted. 

“Bucky?” Peter asked. Again, he’d faced Crossbones a couple times, but he never got the exact details on who he was.

“How many one-armed men named Bucky do you know?” Rumlow asked flatly.

“Actually, I know a few. There’s Bucky Barnes… uh, Bucky Farms, Bucky Ducky, Bucky—“ Peter was cut off by a soft beep and a vibration from the desk. A phone. Peter’s eyes widened, and he was already thinking of ways to steal it, but Rumlow was steps ahead.

“Who would you even call? The Avengers don’t have your back, the world wants to arrest you, and any friends would get charged with surfing and abetting,” Rumlow chuckled. Peter’s shoulders sunk. He didn’t know. He wanted to call May or Ned, but Rumlow was right. He would get them in trouble. That’s why he hadn’t contacted them this whole time as a fugitive. “I have a shift. I just wanted to make sure you returned to the land of the living before I left.”

“How considerate,” Peter said sarcastically. Rumlow walked to his desk and opened a drawer. He pulled out a syringe. Peter watched as he filled it a quarter of the way with some unlabeled bottle. Rumlow started toward Peter.

“Hey!” Peter flinched and started to scoot away from him. The drug was just starting to wear off, and he didn’t know what Rumlow was holding. Rumlow put the syringe between his teeth and reached for Peter. Peter was pushing himself away with his legs, but it didn’t stop Rumlow from grabbing his shoulders and spinning him around. Peter struggled. If he was too squirmy, he couldn’t be injected.

Rumlow dug a knee into Peter’s spine, trapping him against the ground with his arms stuck underneath him. Rumlow grabbed his right elbow, dragging it out to the side. Rumlow pressed his other knee into Peter’s right shoulder and held the arm down with both of his own hands. Peter thrashed. Despite his best efforts though, his arm was relatively still. Rumlow grabbed the syringe from his teeth.

“Stop,” Rumlow ordered. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Get off!” Peter shouted. Rumlow ignored him. Peter felt a prick on his bicep, and he tried to move it, but Rumlow moved with him. Peter felt more  _ something _ being injected. “What the hell is that?!”

“Just a suppressant,” Rumlow answered. He set the syringe on the dresser and dragged Peter to his feet. The dizziness was returning. Rumlow tossed Peter onto the bed and grabbed his hands. Peter tried to kick Rumlow, who stood to the side and well out of the way of stray feet. Peter felt the pull and then heard the thud as his hands were reattached to the super-magnet.

“What if I die of overdose? You don’t know me,” Peter reasoned. Rumlow pressed the washcloth against Peter’s face.

“I don’t need to. It’s a maintenance dose and designed for enhanced agents,” Rumlow said. He patted Peter’s face again. “Be good.”

“Rumlow!” Peter yelled, but the mercenary grabbed his phone and checked his gun. Peter looked around the room. He needed to escape. He wasn’t going to just lay here for 8 hours or however long Rumlow would be gone. He’d get out, one way or another. Rumlow winked at Peter and turned off the lights. “Sleep tight.”


	3. Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the drugs wear off, Rumlow makes sure that Peter's still going to listen, even if he has to goad the kid into it.

Peter tried to escape. He really did. He tugged at his arms, and he felt the metal digging into his suit, but it didn’t give. Peter contorted himself on the bed, squirming and twisting until his feet found the wall. Peter walked his feet up the wall toward the head of the bed.

Instead of a headboard, the wall had a dark sheet of metal, which Peter assumed was the magnet, as that’s what his handcuffs were sticking to. Peter pressed his feet against the corner of the wall, not on the metal. Peter extended his legs and pulled at his hands as hard as he could. Still no progress. Peter relaxed his legs. His arms were sore now, and his body as a whole was tingling. He felt heavier with the weight of the drug he’d been given, and he wondered if he was actually weaker.

Peter rolled onto his other side, his feet finding the side table. With the light from the window, Peter could make out a lamp. Peter kicked the side table, trying to move it. If the cord to the lamp led somewhere, it might be the same spot as the magnet. The side table was blocked from moving too far by the desk, and Peter saw that the cord of the lamp disappeared behind the desk. He kicked the lamp onto the ground in frustration. He heard the lightbulb break. Great.

Peter let his legs hang off the bed as he caught his breath. This was exhausting. He laid on his back, bending his knees so that they curled in to protect his torso. He’d try again in a minute.

* * *

“Get up.” Peter woke up abruptly again, and he barely realized what was happening before he hit the ground. Rumlow had pulled him off the bed. Peter looked down at his handcuffs and up at Rumlow. Rumlow huffed and reached down to grab Peter’s arm.

The world spun, threatening to knock Peter off his feet, but Rumlow had already pulled him upright, and they were walking. Peter’s feet operated on autopilot, but autopilot wasn’t enough to keep him from stumbling with every other step. Rumlow didn’t seem to care that Peter’s weight consistently fell onto his arm. He just continued to drag him along.

Peter tried to clear his eyes or his mind or anything that would help him make sense of the situation. When he finally started processing things, they were in an elevator. Peter had stopped moving for a moment, and with it, so had his world. He made out another agent in the elevator, standing closer to the buttons. There were a lot of buttons. Peter looked at Rumlow with confusion.

The elevator binged, the noise ringing around in Peter’s head. He winced. The other agent got out of the elevator and put his arm across the door. He looked at Peter, raised his eyebrows, and nodded. Rumlow dragged Peter past him.

Peter stood in the middle of a space now, maybe the size of a boxing ring. The floor was something soft. A training mat? Rumlow flashed something shiny in front of Peter’s face, and Peter focused on it. “Keys,” Peter said dumbly. Rumlow unlocked his handcuffs. “Why?”

“Fight me,” Rumlow ordered. Peter blinked. Had he heard that right? He looked at his handcuffs on the ground, and then back to Mr. Rumlow. Peter looked around the room. There were other people, hydra agents, probably, who were using workout equipment, but some of them were starting to take interest in Rumlow and Peter.

“This isn’t a fair fight,” Peter said. “I’m drugged.” He wasn’t going to consensually get his ass beat in front of a room full of enemies.

“Spar me drugged, and you might actually beat me sober,” Rumlow said. Peter took a step back, toward the edge.

“I’m not going to fight you,” Peter made his voice as firm as he could muster. Rumlow moved toward him and punched Peter in the stomach. Peter grunted and doubled over. Rumlow brought his elbow down on his spine, causing Peter to fall onto the ground. Peter groaned. Everything felt more distant than it was supposed to with the drugs, and the chuckles that he heard seemed to bounce around in his brain but never make themselves clear either.

Peter gathered himself and got back onto unsteady feet. Rumlow aimed a punch for his shoulder, and Peter instinctively tried to block it, but his reflexes were sluggish. The fist knocked his shoulder back, and Peter grit his teeth.

“Are you going to fight back or keep standing there?” Rumlow asked. He gave Peter another swing, but Peter managed to block it this time. He wasn’t fast enough to catch Rumlow’s fist, but he knocked the man’s arm off course so that the blow missed him. However, he didn’t hit back.

“I said no,” Peter reaffirmed. His feet were swept out from under him, and his back hit the mat again. Rumlow’s hand gripped Peter’s throat and his knee dug into the boy’s abdomen. Peter gasped. Rumlow shifted more of his weight onto Peter’s stomach and leaned in.

“You can keep playing the victim card if you want,” Rumlow hissed. “I’m more than happy to demonstrate my power. Do you want me to fuck you again, so that everyone knows that your ass is mine?” Rumlow dragged his knee down, pressing it against Peter’s crotch. Peter’s stomach leaped up into his throat, and adrenaline raced to his brain.

Peter hit Rumlow in the side, knocking the man off of him. Peter gasped and rolled away from him. He got onto his hands and knees. Rumlow was already back up. Peter saw the kick coming and caught Rumlow’s ankle. He squeezed it in his hand. Rumlow jumped with his other foot and spun, kicking Peter in the face. Peter fell back, clutching his cheek. What the hell?

Peter got to a standing position in one fluid, practiced motion, but his brain swirled again. It wasn’t as bad as before, but Peter still felt off. He stared at Rumlow, watching carefully for an attack. Rumlow stood at ease, or however a tight-ass like him relaxed.

“Does anyone else want a go at him?” Rumlow asked, looking at the agents who had gathered around. Peter’s eyes flickered between them. One of them muttered something to the woman next to him, but Peter didn’t make out what it was. “He’s not fighting back, so he’s pretty much a glorified punching bag.”

“I’m not,” Peter denied.

“That’s what I said. He’s not fighting back,” Rumlow advertised.

“I’m not a punching bag,” Peter said. Someone snickered. Peter’s face reddened with embarrassment. He wasn’t a punching bag.

“Prove it.” Rumlow challenged. He shifted back to a fighting stance. Peter took a shaky breath. He knew Rumlow was just trying to get a rise out of him, but it was working, whether Peter liked it or not. “Is this what you did in London? Stand by as all your drones did the dirty work?”

“That was Beck,” Peter said quickly.

“Was it? People did die, didn't they? Using the glasses that you gave up?” Rumlow taunted. Peter paled. How did Rumlow know about that? “Passive Peter Parker, letting the ‘good people’ die.”

“It wasn’t me!” Peter shouted, fighting back a burning feeling in his throat. The majority of the room was looking in his direction now.

“Well, we all saw the video,” Rumlow shrugged, as if it was true, as if it wasn’t all doctored. As if Peter would really murder dozens of innocent people. “So much for the friendly neighborhood—“

Peter sprang at Rumlow, punching him with enough force to make the man stumble. Rumlow hit Peter in the ribs, but it didn’t stop him. Peter and Rumlow exchanged blows. Peter landed a few good punches, but he missed more than he landed, and after a few moments, he was back on the mat. Peter coughed and clutched where Rumlow had hit him. Rumlow’s boot nudged Peter’s shoulder to the side in order to step on his chest. Peter panted, his stamina non-existent with the drugs and lack of fighting recently.

“There we go,” Rumlow purred. Peter shut his eyes. Damn it.

* * *

After fighting— or rather beating up— Peter a few more times, Rumlow backed off. Peter was already sweating and winded. His reflexes weren’t even comparable to Rumlow’s in this state, and while his strength hadn’t left him, his dexterity had. Rumlow brought Peter up a few levels to the common area.

Despite the situation, Peter didn’t try to stray from Rumlow’s side. He was just trying to take it all in. Almost every posse had to be a different species, with the exception of about ⅓ of the population being hydra agents. The aliens were different shapes, sizes, and colors. A lot of them looked at Peter as Rumlow pulled him along, and he felt…exposed.

Rumlow handcuffed Peter’s left hand and attached the other end to an empty metal table. He walked off without further explanation. Peter wanted to ask where he was going, but he didn’t want the man to find any satisfaction in Peter’s curiosity. He might think Peter wanted him around or something sick like that. Not wanting to draw more attention to himself, Peter sat down on the bench.

Peter looked around. There was a group of aliens in the next row. They were all various shades of blue and purple, and they seemed vaguely humanoid. However, they had raised circles where a human’s hair might be and on the sides of their necks. Peter couldn’t see how far down the circles went because of their clothing. One of them noticed Peter watching, and they must’ve alerted the others, because they all looked in Peter’s direction. Peter looked down quickly.

Rumlow returned at that exact moment, scaring Peter out of his skin when he dropped a tray of food in front of him. Peter glanced up at Rumlow. The man had his own tray. Rumlow sat down next to him and started eating. Rumlow seemed to be watching the aliens too, but if any of them noticed the man watching, Rumlow didn’t seem to care. Peter stared at his tray.

There was chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans. Peter’s heart jumped at the sight. It had been forever since he’d had a full meal. He grabbed the plastic fork from the plate. Rumlow didn’t glance in Peter’s direction, but Peter assumed that he noticed it. He was in the clear. Peter ate most of the heap of mashed potatoes in one go, shoveling the soft substance into his mouth. There was some gravy on the chicken, but Peter couldn’t be bothered to mix it. It was  _ food _ . Peter took a break to chew some green beans and started cutting up the chicken while his mouth was occupied.

Rumlow, for what it was worth, seemed to know how to take care of an enhanced individual. He’d gotten Peter three chicken breasts, and Peter was  _ feasting _ . Peter only paused when two men approached them. They looked at Rumlow, who nodded slightly, and they sat down.

“Anything to report?” Rumlow asked.

“Nothing interesting on my end,” The tall one said. “Ricky got the exciting job. Tell ‘im.” He nudged the man beside him. Ricky rolled his eyes.

“I was freezing my ass off, man. It wasn’t that exciting.”

“French Alps,” Rumlow said, more as a statement than a question. Ricky seemed unfazed. Peter started eating the second chicken breast, but he still listened. 

"Yeah. That. So, I take a group out there, and we’re almost done with the trip. No hiccups. And then, out of nowhere, these dumb ass park rangers show up,” Ricky chuckled and shook his head in amusement. Peter’s stomach churned. “The rookie with me panicked, but obviously, the rangers were in shock, so it wasn’t a huge deal. I simply—“

“Where’s the bathroom?” Peter interrupted. The three men looked at him. Peter felt nauseous.

“It’s rude to interrupt,” The tall man said. Peter looked at Rumlow.

“I have to go,” Peter insisted. Rumlow swallowed his food.

“Over there,” He motioned with his fork to a door. Peter shifted his legs to the outside, but the handcuffs stopped him from getting up. He looked at Rumlow.

“Don’t piss your pants,” Rumlow huffed. However, he did lean over and unlock Peter’s handcuffs. Peter shot off from the table, speed-walking toward the bathroom. He pushed through the dizziness that threatened to take him down.

Instead of sinks, there was a long basin with faucets. Peter stumbled to the side and vomited into it. It took a solid minute for him to stop heaving. Another being on the other end of a basin was watching him. Peter tried to straighten up slightly and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Sorry.”

The creature left. Peter leaned over the side of the basin again, just in case he wasn’t done. After another long moment, Peter shifted to the front. He turned on the water, washing what he’d thrown up away. It looked like the food he’d just eaten. Peter sighed and filled his gloved hands with water. He splashed his face and looked up at the mirror. He bit his lip.

It had been a hot minute since Peter had gotten a look at himself. He’d snuck into subway bathrooms at first, and then dirty nightclub bathrooms when the police started watching the trains for him, so the last time there was good lighting and a clean mirror was a while ago. Peter’s face was thinner than he remembered, his skin was pale, and his cheekbones looked more prominent. His hair was greasy, his eyes had dark bags under them, and leftover blood stained under his nose. Peter frowned and filled his hands with more water to wash his face. It looked only slightly better without the blood. Peter tried to drink out of his hands.

“I thought you were smarter.” Rumlow said. Peter let the water slip through his fingers. He looked toward the door. Rumlow was leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

“How long have you been there?” Peter asked.

“Long enough,” Rumlow said. Peter rested his arms on the basin. “I’m not waiting much longer. Finish your food, or I’ll toss it.”

Peter looked at the opposite wall. He skimmed it, but there was no window- no indication of light. It wasn’t why he’d come, but if Peter had been looking for an escape exit, this wasn’t it. Rumlow pushed off the wall. “I guess I’ll toss it.”

Peter pushed himself off the sink and past Rumlow, beating him to the table where the two other men had now gotten food. Peter put his arm on the table, blocking the tray protectively as he picked up his fork again. Rumlow took his place next to him.

“No one taught this dumbass not to overeat,” Rumlow commented. Peter’s face reddened. 

“I figured as much,” Ricky chuckled. Peter wouldn’t have overeaten if he wasn’t so damn hungry. He’d only gotten the tossed-away leftovers of people recently, which rarely included protein or near-enough calories for his metabolism. Of course his shrunken stomach wasn’t ready to keep up with that much food.

Peter ate more slowly this time, struggling not to lose his appetite as he thought about his food coming back up and as Ricky discussed how it was the start of Winter and how no one would find the corpses of the park rangers until May. A few minutes later, he had only some peas and a few bites of chicken left. The agents were done talking, and Ricky grabbed the trays, all of them, to go put them up. Peter almost reached for his tray back, but he was already embarrassed and didn’t want to expose himself more. Rumlow looked amused. Peter scowled.

Now that he had some food in his belly and it had been some number of hours since he had been drugged, Peter was able to think more clearly. He looked around for any possible exits. He would love to kick Rumlow’s ass, but he wasn’t in the state to fight right now. There was the elevator, which would be too slow, and there were doors leading to various places. Peter wondered what was behind them.

“Eyes on the job,” Rumlow reminded. Peter turned his head toward the man.

“What job?” Peter asked. “Kicking your ass? Because it’s pretty hard to miss.” Rumlow tensed.

“Making sure no one steps out of line, including yourself,” Rumlow hissed.

“In that case…” Peter shut his eyes. Rumlow threaded his hand in the back of Peter’s overgrown hair and tugged. The sharp pull on Peter’s hair forced his eyes open. Rumlow directed his head at the common area full of different beings. When he saw Peter looking among them, he let go of his hair. Peter immediately shut his eyes again. Rumlow slammed his head into the table. There was a loud, metal clang.

“Oof!” The tall man laughed. Peter’s head throbbed as he picked himself back up. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the spots out of his vision. Rumlow put a warning hand on the back of his neck.

“If you wanna keep playing these games, we can stick your brain in a blender like we did with the Winter Soldier. Is that what you want, Peter? Because I would  _ love _ to watch that. I’d grab a chair, maybe some popcorn, and laugh as they fry your brain so much that there’s none of you left in there,” Rumlow growled. “Is that what you want? Answer.”

Peter frowned, but he said nothing. Rumlow smashed his head against the table again and pulled him back to sitting up. He squeezed his fingers into the side of Peter’s throat, his nails creating crescent-shaped indents on the soft skin. “I asked you a question.”

“No,” Peter panted. Rumlow released his neck.

“Good,” Rumlow praised. Peter felt sick. He didn’t want the man’s praise. Still, he did survey the common area, if not to protect his head, then because he was bored. Several minutes passed, and in the steady noise of alien dialects, Peter heard one language starting to rise above the others. Two aliens were standing across from one another, each flanked by their respective cronies, Peter assumed. They didn’t look happy. One shoved the other. Rumlow took a sip of his drink and got up.

Peter watched as he went over to the aliens, getting in between them. Rumlow was saying something that Peter didn’t understand, but it didn’t look like he was exactly defusing the situation. The two arguing aliens were talking over him and to him, while Rumlow tried to bring the attention back to himself. Peter stood up. He eyed the nearest door he hadn’t tried. He might have to go through Rumlow’s line of sight, but if the man was distracted, he had a shot. Peter walked toward the door, keeping a wary eye on Rumlow. There was more shoving. Rumlow unhooked a baton on his belt.

As Peter reached the door, food, trays, and other items crashed off a table. Rumlow was on his back on the table. Peter felt his chest rise. Good, maybe Rumlow could get a taste of his own medicine. However, as the alien pinned him down, one of his crewmates had grabbed an alien weapon. It started to glow orange. Peter’s eyes widened.

In a flash, Peter was there, in the middle of everything. He had come in with enough force to knock the gun out of the alien’s hand, but the gun discharged an energy blast when it hit the floor. Peter flinched. The aliens in conflict angrily got their own weapons. “Wait, Wait!” Peter shouted, trying to keep them from shooting.

He grabbed the wrist of the alien who looked like they were about to cut Rumlow’s throat with a weirdly-shaped blade, and he was backhanded as a result. Peter stumbled back into some creature as more Hydra agents arrived, each being wielding their own weapons in a three-way standoff. Peter stayed stock still. More backup agents came, and the two small groups that had started the conflict were far outnumbered. Weapons were begrudgingly holstered.

Peter relaxed as the aliens and crowd watching them dispersed. Rumlow sat up on the table, grinning at Peter. “What?” Peter asked, narrowing his eyes.

“You did your job,” Rumlow said. Peter looked around, trying to understand.

“I didn’t want anyone to get hurt,” Peter replied. “That’s all.”

“But you still enforced the rules,” Rumlow pointed out. Peter stared at him. No… he was just doing the right thing. He had just saved Rumlow from getting blown up. He had just saved at least a couple people, or beings, from a shootout. Rumlow got to his feet, still smirking. He patted Peter’s shoulder. “You’re a natural.”


	4. Try it, I dare you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see end-of-chapter notes for non-con spoilers

Peter would’ve slammed the door if Rumlow wasn’t the one holding it. How could he be so stupid? He just walked straight into a trap. He did exactly what Rumlow wanted, and willingly. He didn’t even think.

Anxious energy lit up his veins, and Peter wanted somewhere to channel it, anywhere, but there was just this  _ dumb  _ room. He kicked the bed. Rumlow rolled his eyes and moved past Peter to his desk. He pressed something on the inside of the hutch, and Peter heard the same beep as earlier. He heard an electric hum, and his eyes drifted to another metal panel, drilled into the wall where there was some free space. Peter didn’t think it had been there before, and there was a pair of handcuffs waiting. Rumlow looked at Peter expectantly. Peter put the pieces together in his head.

“No,” Peter said firmly. Rumlow grimaced.

“You have to be difficult, don’t you?” He asked. Peter shrugged. When Rumlow approached him, Peter tried to swipe his foot out from under him. Rumlow channeled the shift of balance to shove Peter’s shoulder. Peter fell back and smacked his head on the edge of the bed frame.

“Shit,” Peter swore, putting his hand on the growing bump. His head was starting to complain about the constant trauma. Rumlow swooped down to grab Peter’s ankle, and he straightened the boy's leg out with both hands. He could invert Peter’s knee at this position, or at least dislocate it. He put a foot on Peter’s stomach.

“I can drug you again,” Rumlow threatened. It took Peter a beat or two to process it and formulate a response.

“No. I’m not doing what you want willingly, but I’m not as useful to you anyway if I’m not at my full,” Peter reasoned. Rumlow snickered.

“Sure. Whatever,” Rumlow huffed. He dragged Peter by the ankle to the new wall panel. Peter reached for Rumlow’s grip on his ankle and received a slap to the face. Rumlow knelt down and grabbed Peter’s right arm roughly. He hooked one cuff around that wrist before making sure that the chain was properly looped and attaching Peter’s other wrist. Peter pulled, but his hands were stuck to the panel now, and the chain didn’t seem breakable anyway.

“You can’t just tie me up all the time,” Peter argued.

“We’ll deal with that if we get there. I have work to do,” Rumlow shrugged. He sat down at his desk and opened a laptop. When Peter couldn’t make out the login password, he stopped watching. Rumlow seemed thoroughly entranced by what he was working on. Peter curled up against the wall and fell asleep.

* * *

Peter woke up to an alarm, and when he opened his eyes, he saw Rumlow getting out of bed. He was only wearing boxers. Peter averted his gaze as Rumlow came near him to get clothes from the dresser. Rumlow picked a black shirt from the many black items in his drawer and pulled it on, before doing the same for a drawer full of pants. Rumlow grabbed his gun, ID, and phone.

“Where are you going?” Peter asked. Rumlow didn’t bother looking in his direction.

“I have a meeting.”

“About killing people?” Peter accused.

“No. About you,” Rumlow corrected. Peter straightened up some.

“Oh,” Peter said. He waited to be uncuffed. Rumlow shook his head.

“Oh no. You’re not coming. You’re an asset, not personnel,” Rumlow scoffed. Peter frowned.

“But it’s about me.”

“Yeah. See you later,” Rumlow unlocked the door, left, and relocked it. Peter did his best to bring his knees up to his chest and waited.

* * *

Peter looked up when the door started to unlock. Rumlow came in, and he looked… angry. Peter didn’t know if he should take that as a good thing or a dangerous thing. He looked for the voice to ask what happened, but Rumlow was already speaking.

“They don’t want to allocate more resources to this project after the Winter Soldier disaster, so that—“ Rumlow gestured at the wall. “— is where you’re staying.”

“I don’t get it,” Peter said. Was he a captive? A hostage? A trophy?

“You already know decent combat, you’re young and impressionable, and reprogramming costs a lot, so they’re not going to wipe you, and I’m getting a fuckton of money to handle your ass.”

“You could just let me go if I’m a problem,” Peter said hopefully. Rumlow chuckled.

“You’re not worthless, unfortunately,” He said. “You proved that yesterday.” Peter dipped his head in shame at the reminder.

“I’m not playing along,” Peter promised. Rumlow pressed the button on his desk, and the magnet holding Peter turned off. Peter pulled his hands away, but there was still the hook that kept him from going too far. Rumlow came over and uncuffed him. Peter watched Rumlow’s scarred face for any signs of emotion. He looked like all of this was just common procedure. Peter rubbed his wrists. Rumlow opened the door, and Peter perked up.

“Let’s go,” Rumlow said. Peter got to his feet, but he stopped himself from walking. He didn’t want to do what Rumlow said in any form, so yes, he wanted to get out of this room, but not if he was invited. Rumlow shook his head and started to leave. As the door started to close, Peter’s legs twitched. He moved forward and caught the door right before it closed, slipping out after Rumlow. Rumlow walked to the short railing. Peter stood next to him cautiously.

“I look out from here a lot. It’s easier to see if there’s any problems,” Rumlow said.

“All you do is sit around all day and watch people?” Peter asked. He still wasn’t drinking the kool-aid, but if he could share information with the Avengers when he got out, it might be useful to collect clues as to what Hydra was up to.

“I rotate around. Some days I’m in the security room. Some days I check ingoing and outgoing ships for contraband. Today we’re watching the Hexagon.”

“For what?”

“Avoiding altercations like yesterday, and watching to see if anyone’s planning an uprising or unauthorized trip,” Rumlow answered. Peter looked down. There were so many different beings, both human and non-human, and while he could hear well, he had no idea what languages they were speaking.

“How do you tell?”

“Someone going from group to group, messages being passed, anyone looking up here more than they should, among other methods.” Rumlow said.

“Oh,” Peter tilted his head. That did sound decently challenging, especially with this diverse bunch. The two stood in silence for a few minutes, watching the area below. A lot of the aliens and humans ate food, but a lot seemed to be just chatting. The coffee station was particularly popular for the humans, and Peter wondered if Rumlow had had any. Now that he looked at him, the man did look kind of tired. That was an opportunity. Peter looked across the way. With the circular design, he could see the whole floor, and no one other than them was currently outside of a room. Peter shifted his weight, and Rumlow didn’t seem to notice. He shifted again. Nothing.

Peter took off, sprinting for the elevator opposite them. Rumlow noticed  _ that _ . Peter ran as fast as he could. 

“Hey!” There was a pause, and Peter looked over his shoulder to see that the man wasn’t running after him, just walking. He might actually make it. Rumlow did shout though. “Chambers!”

Peter kept checking behind him to make sure that Rumlow wasn’t running yet, so he missed the door opening ahead of him. As Peter ran, he was suddenly slammed from the side. Peter stumbled and crashed into the railing. Due to the fact that the railing was really just crude bent metal, it didn’t hold up well. The metal bent outward where Peter had hit it, and the kid tumbled right over the side.

Peter’s side hit the end of a table before he smacked the ground. His side exploded with pain from the impact. The occupants of the table stood up as they watched him, and Peter clambered to his feet.

His side throbbed. He definitely bruised or broke some ribs. It didn’t matter. He needed to move. Peter hustled toward one of the unknown doors. A hydra agent moved to stop him, drawing his pistol. He couldn’t shoot before Peter got to him and disarmed him. The man aimed a punch for his side, which Peter blocked with both hands. The butt of a rifle slammed into Peter’s head. Peter crumbled.

A boot trapped his wrist against the floor. Peter looked up to see that it belonged to Rumlow, and he had another agent beside him, holding an automatic rifle. Peter winced. Rumlow was glaring at him. The man said something in an unknown language to the table Peter had landed on.

“We’re good. Thanks,” Rumlow then said to the agents around them. They left Peter and Rumlow alone. Peter felt his heart sink. He didn’t try to move. Rumlow leaned down and grabbed Peter’s bicep, yanking the teenager to his feet. Peter hissed and hugged his side with his free arm. Rumlow looked at him for a moment and then punched that side. Peter yelped.

“What the fuck?!” Peter asked, trying to back away from Rumlow. The grip on his arm didn’t falter.

“You’re just asking for trouble,” Rumlow shook his head.

“You were asking for me to escape,” Peter shot back. Rumlow looked to the nearest agent.

“Do you have things covered?” He asked. The agent nodded. Rumlow started toward the elevator, dragging Peter behind him. Peter dug his feet into the floor, but it hurt when his upper body was stretched, and he stumbled after him. They ended up back in the training room from yesterday.

“What are we doing?” Peter asked cautiously. Rumlow grabbed an exercise band as they walked and stopped in front of a pull-up bar.

“You were asking for a punishment,” Rumlow said calmly. Peter looked at him, dumbfounded. Rumlow grabbed his wrists and wrapped part of the band around them.

“Wait,” Peter tried to pull his hands back, but Rumlow tugged him forward. Peter debated if he should kick him and fight back, or if that would just get him into more trouble. Rumlow tossed one end of the band over the bar and pulled.

Peter hissed as his hands were forced over his head, hating the way that it stretched his torso. Rumlow walked away from him, and he came back with a baton. Peter’s eyes widened.

“Wait! Rumlow, no! Wait!” Peter squirmed. Rumlow slammed the baton into Peter’s left ribs. Peter cried out in pain and tried to move, but there wasn’t anywhere he could go. Rumlow hit him again and again, just there, and if his ribs hadn’t been broken before, they definitely were now.

Peter yelled and struggled, even putting his weight onto his arms to pull his knees to his chest. It did nothing to protect his side. After a couple dozen hits, Rumlow paused to shake out his arm.

“Are we done yet?” Rumlow asked playfully.

“No,” Peter squeaked. Rumlow sighed and dug the tip of the baton into Peter’s side. Peter winced. His throat itched with the need to talk his way out of the situation, but Peter bit his tongue. Rumlow smacked his side again. He wrapped his second hand around the handle, holding it like a baseball bat. Peter felt his spider-senses tingle in warning.

“Wait!” Peter gasped. He instantly regretted it. He couldn’t give in. “Never- nevermind.”

“You’re indecisive today,” Rumlow chuckled. He swung at Peter. A white flash of pain grabbed Peter, crawling across his chest, squeezing the air out of his lungs, threatening to crush them. It took a moment to remember how to breathe. Rumlow smirked at the teen. “Looks like I got a home run. Should I take an encore?”

Peter watched him nervously. That wasn’t how baseball worked. Rumlow drew his arms back again. “Wait! Ok, ok!”

Rumlow paused. “Ok, what?”

“I’m sorry,” Peter spat out. “I’m sorry.” Rumlow raised the baton, and Peter flinched. The blow never came. Peter cracked his eyes open, and he saw Rumlow putting the baton up. He exhaled shakily. Rumlow came back and cut him down. He began to unwrap his hands.

“Are you going to be good?” Rumlow asked. Peter didn’t answer. “Good.”

They returned to the common room, and while Rumlow leaned up against a wall, he ordered Peter to stand up straight. Peter only listened because he didn’t think he could stomach any more blows, but standing made the throbbing pain significantly worse. At one point, Rumlow went to get some food, and Peter glanced nervously at the other agents in the room. At least a few looked right back at him. Peter would have to wait for their guard to drop before he could make another run for it. Rumlow returned, unwrapping a sandwich. Peter looked for a second one.

“Did you get two?” Peter asked. Rumlow glanced at him.

“Why would I?” He questioned. Peter shifted his weight uncomfortably.

“I… uh… I need to eat. I have a big metabolism,” Peter mumbled shyly.

“Sounds like your problem,” Rumlow crumbled up the plastic and tossed it at a bin. “You haven’t earned it.” He took a bite of his sandwich. “Maybe later.”

Peter slumped. He wouldn’t be able to just find scraps without Rumlow noticing. He didn’t say anything as Rumlow ate. More time passed, and Peter couldn’t help but stare at the food on everyone’s plates. His stomach growled painfully. He lasted a little while longer, but they must’ve switched foods, because new smells hit Peter’s nose, and he was flooded with hunger. He wanted to ask, but he didn’t want to give Rumlow that power over him. Not yet. Unfortunately, Peter felt like it might be another day or two before anyone’s guard would be down enough, and he couldn’t go that long without eating. Not if he wanted the energy he’d need to escape. Peter took a deep breath.

“What can I do?” Peter asked.

“Hmm?” Rumlow didn’t bother looking at him. Peter’s throat was thick.

“To uh… you said I had to earn it.”

“Dinner?”

“Yeah,” Peter mumbled. Rumlow smirked. Peter blushed. It wasn’t that amusing. He was hungry. It was a trade, not a concession. Rumlow thought for a minute.

“Well, my bosses asked for a blood sample, and I was going to pin you down or punch it out of you, but if you want to take the easy route..,” Rumlow said. Peter bit his lip. He always worried about lab rat scenarios. 

“I don’t want them to run a bunch of tests on me,” Peter said. “I’m not an experiment.”

“Well, you are whatever we want you to be,” Rumlow chuckled. A minute passed. If it was just blood— well, it was still a risk to give them blood, but not more than his DNA, which they could get no matter what. He just didn’t like the idea of his powers being replicated or abused. Peter stared off into space, thinking. He hated needles, but he was a lot less nervous about them when he wasn’t struggling and risking skewering a vein.

“Fine,” Peter mumbled finally.

“Good boy,” Rumlow praised. Peter stared at his feet.

* * *

A few hours later, Rumlow took Peter down to a lab. It looked mostly mechanical at first, but as they got further in, Peter saw samples of biological things. Liquids and tissue samples were different colors, and, Peter assumed, not all human.

“Gloria,” Rumlow said. A woman turned around. “I brought you a sample.”

“I’m not a—,” Peter started, but Rumlow shoved his shoulder roughly. Peter clenched his teeth together as it jostled his ribs.

“Great. Give me just a second,” Gloria said. She got up and went to a drawer, picking up supplies. Peter grabbed a nearby chair and pulled it closer, sitting down.

“I need your arm,” Gloria said as she came back. Peter hesitated briefly, but he held his arm out to her. She waited. Right. Peter blushed. He had his suit on. He looked up at Rumlow, whose face betrayed nothing. Peter pressed the logo on his uniform to loosen the suit, and he let it fall down to his elbows. He tensed at the feeling of cold air against his back and the general exposure. Gloria grabbed his left sleeve and tugged it down further. If she noticed the bruising on Peter’s side (she had to have noticed), she didn’t say anything.

Peter fought not to squirm as she wiped the inside of his elbow with an alcohol wipe and set up the collection supplies. He really, really hated needles, but he’d learned to live with them due to how much Mr. Stark and Mr. Rhodes had to give him blood and fluids after Peter did something stupid. However, it didn’t mean he disliked them any less, and it had been a while. He averted his gaze as Gloria felt his arm and searched for a vein. Peter’s skin was thick, but with the fact that he was now quite underweight, it wasn’t hard to find one.

Peter felt the needle digging into his skin, and he bit his lip. After a few moments, he glanced down to see a blood bag filling up with  _ his _ blood. Peter focused on breathing. Gloria pulled the needle out.

“All done. Thanks Brock,” She put a cotton ball and medical tape over Peter’s arm, and Peter pulled his suit back into place. He got up and followed Rumlow to the elevator.

“You really hate needles,” Rumlow chuckled. Peter’s face reddened.

“I’m not afraid of them.”

“I just now know what to go for when I need you to hide under the bed,” Rumlow teased. Peter refused to look at him.

“What’s for dinner?” He asked pointedly.

Rumlow let Peter have a normal-person serving of Lasagna and water, which really wasn’t enough, but Peter wasn’t willing to ask for more, even when Rumlow’s friends had leftovers that they didn’t seem intent on finishing. Rumlow took Peter upstairs and hooked him to the wall again. He mentioned something about getting drinks and left. Peter rested his chin on his knees. Was he being too compliant?

He was gathering information so he could turn on them later, wasn’t he? He shouldn’t do anything for them, full stop. However, his self-preservation was kicking in, and it didn’t want him to be a broken ragdoll. Rumlow was brutally violent, and if Peter didn’t start cooperating at least a little, Rumlow was going to end up killing him. He just needed to manage until he could find another escape route. Peter’s mind filtered through possible limits. He would never hurt anyone. If they asked that of him, they would just have to kill him. He could help prevent fights perhaps, but only if someone would get really hurt if he didn’t. Peter didn’t know what kind of people were here. He assumed that all of the Hydra agents were bad guys, naturally, but some of the aliens might be just tourists. They might not mean Earth any harm at all. What if some of them were kids? Did they not deserve to be protected?

There were too many what-if’s, so Peter resolved to just take things as they came. He would stick to the iron-clad rule of not hurting anyone, but other than that, he just needed to make it out.

* * *

The hairs on Peter’s neck shot up as the door unlocked. Rumlow came in, footsteps a bit heavier than normal. Peter could smell the alcohol on him. He was tempted to make himself smaller. He knew alcohol made people more volatile, and Rumlow was already one of the most violent people he knew.

Rumlow unloaded his things on the desk— his keys, his gun, his phone. He started to strip as well. Peter averted his gaze to the wall until he felt Rumlow moving toward him and not stopping at the dresser. Peter snuck a glance up. Rumlow towered over him, wearing absolutely nothing. The scars centered on the left side of his face went down the left side of his body, including his left arm and part of his thigh. A few smaller scars littered his abdomen. There were some other scars across his chest that Peter wasn’t sure were related. The look he gave Peter was… predatory.

He reached for Peter’s handcuffs, undoing them. Peter’s heart beat against his chest. Could he run? If Rumlow was drunk and naked, he might not follow him. Rumlow grabbed Peter’s arm, pulling him up. Peter tried to twist it out of his grip, and Rumlow pushed Peter away from him. Peter’s back hit the wall, and he was now next to the door. Peter’s hand shot out and tried the handle, but it didn’t turn.

Rumlow crowded Peter back into the corner, and Peter eyes flickered between the door and Rumlow. He could go for the ball-shot. When Rumlow pressed the Spider-logo and started to tug his suit down, Peter made up his mind. He kneed Rumlow in the crotch, and the man grunted in pain. His face turned red with anger, but instead of falling back, like Peter had hoped, Rumlow channeled that anger to his hands, squeezing Peter’s shoulders painfully. Peter batted his arms away and tried to duck under his bicep, but Rumlow caught him by the abdomen and threw him onto the bed. Peter’s suit had fallen to his waist.

Peter scrambled back on the bed, looking for something he could use as a weapon. The broken lamp was gone. Rumlow crawled onto the bed, and Peter grabbed at him, trying to throw him off. Rumlow punched Peter in the face. He managed to flip Peter over, digging a knee into his lower back. Peter gasped in pain at the pressure on his broken ribs. He tried to get his arms under him to thrust Rumlow off. Rumlow wrested Peter’s suit the rest of the way off, leaving him in his boxers.

“Rumlow!” Peter shouted. The man hushed him. Peter pressed on. “You don’t need to do this! I’m already doing what you’re asking.”

“Oh, I don’t need to. I  _ want _ to,” Rumlow growled. He grabbed Peter’s head and pressed it into the pillow. Peter writhed under him, trying to escape. Rumlow grabbed his boxers and ripped them open. Peter whimpered and tried to roll over. Rumlow grabbed his arm and brought it behind his back, pushing it up painfully to make Peter struggle less. Peter still struggled, but tears of pain slipped out of his eyes now.

“You think any of those women downstairs want to sleep with me? With this face?!” Rumlow asked. “At least I can finally fuck someone real now.”

“It shouldn’t matter what you look like,” Peter argued. “It’s not my fault.”

“No, it’s not,” Rumlow agreed. “That doesn’t change the fact that I can fuck you as much as I want.” Rumlow spit into his hand and slicked up his cock. Peter still fought him. Rumlow lined himself up and pushed the tip of his cock into Peter’s ass. Peter grunted and tried to press his hips down and away. Rumlow was generously endowed, and the stretched burned. Peter clutched at the sheets and tried to drag himself forward, but Rumlow snaked his arm around Peter’s stomach and pulled Peter back to him. Peter’s ribs and arm screamed in protest. Rumlow held steady and continued to push deeper into him. Peter whimpered and groaned, but it was drowned out by Rumlow’s growl of pleasure.

Rumlow let go of his arm and moved his hands. His fingers threaded through Peter’s messy curls and grabbed a fistful to pull his head back by, exposing his neck. Peter’s hands stretched for the edge of the bed, but he couldn’t easily break a bed frame that he was lying on. Rumlow’s weight was too much for Peter to move without better leverage.

So, after giving his perk ass less than five seconds to adjust, Rumlow started to fuck him, roughly and without remorse. Peter’s whole body was thrown forward only to be pulled back by his stomach. Sharp pains came with every thrust. Rumlow slammed his hips up into Peter, savoring the cries that tumbled out of Peter’s mouth.

Rumlow’s cock found Peter’s prostate, and the boy sobbed as his body convulsed in response. Rumlow continued to pound into that spot, bringing Peter to hardness. Rumlow grabbed his cock through his boxers, jerking him off. Peter’s face paled. 

“No!” Peter cried. “I don’t want to!”

“It’ll make you tighter,” Rumlow said. He rubbed Peter’s cock expertly, and within a few minutes, Peter’s ass clenched down around Rumlow, and his cum spurt white streaks onto the bed. Rumlow moaned and fucked Peter through it. Finally, Rumlow exploded into his ass, and his thrusts slowed. He didn’t pull out though. He just sat on Peter’s ass and leaned close to the teen’s ear. “You’re a good slut. Such a good little cock-warmer. That’s what you’re good for. Just a sleeve for me to use.”

Peter tried to reach back to push Rumlow away, but the man caught his wrists and pressed them against the bed. Peter whimpered and struggled, but Rumlow’s full weight was on top of him, and he couldn’t move. Rumlow didn’t relent. Peter wanted the man out and off of him. After several minutes, Peter heard a snore. Rumlow had fallen asleep on top of and inside him. Peter writhed and then gasped in pain at the stabbing sensation in his chest. Peter twisted his wrists, but even in his sleep, Rumlow automatically solidified his grip. Peter cried silently, too afraid to wake him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> non-con is just the last scene. Let me know if you think Peter is being too compliant.


	5. Come Clean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter gets a chance to explore and takes it, but he pays the price.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to have two more scenes, but it got long. See end of chapter notes for content warnings (which are spoilers).

Eventually, after hours of waiting and subtle, careful nudges, Peter got them onto their sides, and he was able to slip away from Rumlow. Peter stood, feeling gross and sore. He grabbed his suit and pulled it on. He wanted to curl up in the corner and cry himself to sleep. He really did. He was exhausted. However, this was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up. Rumlow was drunk and unconscious.

Peter groped around for the keys on the desk. He found them and snuck to the door. It took a few guesses, but Peter found the right key and slipped out. He locked the door behind him, trapping Rumlow inside. The lights were dimmed slightly, but not much. Peter walked to the elevator. If this was an unground base, which it had to be if no one had found it yet, the highest level should get him out. Peter pressed the last button.

Peter felt a weight in his chest lift as the elevator did, and when the elevator binged, he smiled. The doors slowly slid open to reveal a control room with dozens of screens. Peter’s breath caught and he slipped to the side, pressing himself to the front of the elevator.

“What?” He heard someone ask.

“That happens sometimes. Someone must’ve pressed a wrong button,” A woman responded. The doors slid closed. Peter looked at the buttons. He pressed what looked like the lowest floor.

When the elevator stopped again, Peter found himself in the lab from before. Only one or two people were milling about the lab, and with floor-to-ceiling utility shelves, Peter knew he could avoid them easily. He slipped out of the elevator to explore.

Peter was near the weapons, and he walked toward stockpiles of technology he didn’t recognize. He wasn’t willing to touch most of it, but a lot of the items looked similar to Earth weapons. Instead of rifles, there were plasma blasters. Instead of grenades, there were small balls with buttons. It looked like there was a dart shooter, but Peter had no idea what was in the darts.

He worked his way to the biology section like earlier, sorting through the different samples that had been taken. A lot of the samples had been labeled with phonetic letters, rather than actual words. Was that whatever the aliens’ names sounded like? Niphlooa? Peter’s ears picked up the faintest squeak. He set the vial he was holding back in place and went to a wall. He made sure no one was near and tapped on the wall. It was hollow.

Peter felt for a seam. Maybe it was a secret entrance? Peter felt a crack, and he wedged his fingers in. There was a click. Yay! He dragged the door open, and his stomach clenched.  _ Oh. _

Animals. Lots of animals. Creature? They all seemed pretty small, but some of them definitely weren’t from Earth. Peter touched a clear case lightly, and the creature inside shied away. Peter frowned. Above it was a rat, but its fur was dark green. What were they really doing here? Rumlow had said it was just harboring aliens. Peter looked for any tools around him. If he could find something to free them…

An arm grabbed Peter’s neck and pulled backward. Peter yelped and lashed out. His foot connected with a glass cage. It fell a few feet and shattered. The creature inside cried out, but Peter had his own problems. He slammed his elbow back and hit someone. Rumlow grunted. Peter’s eyes blew wide, and he thrashed. Rumlow kept the grip on his neck, but Peter grabbed the arm choking him and threw Rumlow over his shoulder, onto the floor.

There was a squeal and a swear. Peter gasped. He’d knocked Rumlow into the creature whose cage Peter had kicked, and Rumlow’s arm had hit it. Rumlow’s arm was red and blistering. He backhanded the creature out of sight. Peter instinctively felt a surge of protectiveness. He tried to run after it.

Rumlow tripped Peter and grabbed his wrist, so Peter only had one hand to try and break his fall. His shoulder mashed into the ground, and his face only slightly less so. Rumlow yanked his arm back, and Peter tumbled into him. Rumlow maneuvered them so that he was pinning Peter to the floor. He dug his knee into Peter’s ribs.

“Do you even know what a fucking brat you are?!” Rumlow snarled. He punched him in the face. Peter caught his hand before it could hit him again. Rumlow pressed his knee down further and Peter winced. Rumlow shifted his other hand from crushing his collarbone to gripping his neck. Peter flinched and grabbed at that wrist with both hands. Rumlow took the opportunity to rail on his face again. By the time Peter had the sense to block the blows, he was bleeding from multiple places.

“The security team  _ woke me up _ to tell me that you were running around,” Rumlow growled. Peter tried to cough to remind Rumlow that he was  _ choking _ him. It was just a gasp. Rumlow swore at him more, and Peter’s vision started to fade. He double tapped Rumlow’s arm to try and get his attention. Rumlow’s brows knitted. Just before Peter passed out, he got off and pulled the kid up by his neck. He switched his grip back to a chokehold, pulling Peter against his chest. He grabbed some of the broken glass and pressed it against Peter’s cheek, but he loosened his arm just enough for Peter to breathe. Peter wheezed.

“It’s fucking embarrassing—,” Rumlow hissed into Peter’s ear. “Being locked in my own room while my asset frolicks…” Peter tried to say something but just grunted. “I had to find my clothes hungover and break the lock from the inside.” The two guards on this floor had finally discovered them, and Peter looked at them pleadingly. Rumlow was going to kill him.

“Walk,” Rumlow ordered. He nudged Peter’s legs with his own, and Peter, happy to just be able to breathe again, walked. Rumlow walked Peter to the elevator.

“Button,” Rumlow said. He lightly scraped Peter’s cheek with the glass in warning. Peter pressed the button. Rumlow spun Peter around and dragged him into the elevator. Peter found the oxygen to speak.

“Where are we going?”

“You embarrassed me, I embarrass you,” Rumlow murmured dangerously. “Press 9” Peter hesitated, but then he felt the sting of glass cutting his skin. He hit the button.

“I’m sorry,” Peter croaked. Rumlow didn’t respond for a minute as the elevator moved. A bing announced their arrival, and the doors slid open. It looked like a locker room, of sorts, but the cubbies were massive, and the benches spread out.

“You will be,” Rumlow promised. He walked Peter forward. There were some other human men and some aliens floating around the locker room, but Peter couldn’t see all of them. He knew there had to be others in the adjacent rows. He tried to stop walking so he could ask why they were here, but Rumlow forced him to keep moving. They had reached a different part of the locker room, with shower stalls along the back wall and a large, communal shower in the middle.

“Most people are just waking up, and I think you need a morning shower after I fucked your brains out last night,” Rumlow murmured. Peter tripped over his own feet and Rumlow had to catch him by his throat. Peter dropped his weight, but Rumlow was ready and held strong.

“Rumlow. Mr. Rumlow!” Peter clawed at his arm, and the man tightened his grip in response. That wasn’t the only reason Peter was finding it hard to breathe. Rumlow dragged Peter by his chokehold to the communal shower and tossed the glass in the trash. Peter struggled, but he was quickly running out of air. He tossed his head back and heard Rumlow grunt, but the grip was made tighter. He was on the edge of passing out.

Hot water suddenly pelted Peter’s skin. Peter jumped in surprise. It hurt. Rumlow reached up and switched the shower head to a higher pressure. Peter whimpered and tried to turn them away from the water. They’d gone to the left row of shower heads, and despite the heat, Rumlow held Peter firmly in the water.

Rumlow hit Peter’s chest to unlock the suit. Peter yelped and tried to escape. Rumlow turned Peter toward the wall and let go suddenly. Peter stumbled forward and smashed his face into the tile, rattling his brain. Rumlow grabbed Peter in another chokehold before he could slip away. His free arm pushed the Spider-Man uniform down the teen’s body.

Peter struggled valiantly, but it only made it easier for Rumlow to make the suit fall off his body. People were watching now. Peter felt sick. “Hey!” Peter shouted. Everyone watching ignored him, and a few newcomers arrived as a result of hearing Peter’s shouts. Peter tried to crane his head back toward Rumlow.

“Mr. Rumlow. Please! Please, you don’t have to do this,” Peter gasped. Rumlow pushed the uniform down to his hips. “I’ll be good! I promise!”

“You don’t mean it,” Rumlow growled. Peter shook his head. He didn’t mean it, but he could say it. Rumlow lifted Peter up via the chokehold until they had shucked the last of his suit’s pants and boots off. Peter was fully exposed in front of the audience.

“Give them a good show, won’t you babe?” Rumlow whispered in his ear. He looked at the crowd that had gathered. “Richardson! Pass me some soap, will ya?” Something flew toward them, and Peter flinched, but Rumlow caught it in his hand. He held the bar of soap out for Peter.

“Rumlow! Please..,” Peter whimpered. Rumlow squeezed his neck until Peter blindly reached out and grabbed the bar.

“Clean yourself off,” Rumlow ordered quietly. He smirked. “Remember, don’t drop the soap” Peter was shaking, and he held the soap so tightly that his fingers left dents in the soft, slippery bar. “I can always do it for you.”

That quiet but looming threat forced Peter to move. He lightly ran the soap up his arm, making sure to keep his grip firm. The water washed the soap right away, and Peter had to go back, getting the whole circumference of his arm. He paused after that, hoping it was enough.

“Peter..,” Rumlow warned. “I won’t be so gentle. I might even call in some help if I have to do it.” Peter shook his head quickly. He could do it. It was just soap.

Peter felt hungry eyes on him as he ran the soap across his chest. The soap pooled in the ridges of his ribs and abs. Even while underweight, he was muscular, and it was catching the eyes of many of the Hydra agents.

Peter tried his best to clean himself off, running the soap down his legs and to his other arm. He shut his eyes so he wouldn’t think about how many people were watching him and Rumlow’s sick display. Peter has gotten his whole front, and he lowered the hand with the soap.

“‘M done,” He whimpered. Rumlow tutted. 

“Are you? I did a number on your ass, if I remember right,” Rumlow murmured. Peter stood stock still. Rumlow released Peter’s neck and spun them, pressing Peter’s chest to the wall. With the movement, the soap slipped. Peter’s fingers grasped at the soap as it left his hand and barely, just barely, stopped it from falling. If he didn’t have his powers, he would’ve been fucked. He shuddered in relief, but he shivered at the new feeling of the cool tile against his nipples and genitals.

Peter forced his arms behind himself and washed his lower back. He made just one quick, subtle movement on each of his butt cheeks to rinse them, and Rumlow grumbled. Peter tensed.

“You really think you got all of me out of you? Get up in there and scrape it out,” Rumlow hissed. Peter shook his head, and Rumlow sighed dramatically. “I guess I can just soap up my cock and fuck you again.”

“No!” Peter yelped. He opened his eyes again and stared back at Rumlow, pleading. “No, I can do it! Don’t!” Not again. Not here. Not at all.

“Then do it,” Rumlow ordered. Peter rubbed his fingers on the soap, getting them slick. He hesitated. Rumlow nudged his legs further apart. Peter tried to keep his breathing steady as he found the crack of his ass. He dipped his finger between his cheeks and rubbed at his hole. Rumlow grabbed Peter by the hair and tilted his head back. Peter clenched his eyes tightly, trying to pretend he was alone. He didn’t realize not that it only made him more appealing to the audience.

His lips parted slightly as he pressed a finger into himself, not used to the feeling. He pressed his finger against the wall of his ass, and his breath hitched. He had to use some pressure to dislodge what was there— cum or blood or both. He swirled his finger in his ass, trying to clean what he could.

He heard a few jeers and some of the aliens speaking. Peter’s face turned even redder under the hot water. He slipped his finger out and rinsed it off. He had to get the soap out of his ass, so he wet his finger and pressed it back into himself.

“There you go,” Rumlow purred. Peter’s stomach clenched in response. He slowly pulled his finger out. He was done. Could they go now? Rumlow’s arm assumed its earlier position around Peter’s neck and pulled him away from the wall, making him face the crowd. “Don’t forget your pretty little cock.”

Peter wanted it to stop. He wanted to run away and hide, but Rumlow would never let him. Rumlow would do it himself, if he had to, and Peter wanted the man’s hands as far away as possible. Peter gathered some soap in his hand and wrapped a hand around his cock. He was surprised to find himself half-hard. Peter tried to keep his touch as light as possible as he cleaned himself, but that just made his erection worse, and it jutted out proudly from his body. Rumlow grabbed Peter’s wrist and pulled it away from his cock.

“For those of you not familiar, this is what it looks like when a human wants to  _ mate _ ,” Rumlow announced. More unintelligible sounds reached Peter’s ears. Peter’s heart rate spiked. That wasn’t true! He wanted to be  _ away _ from Rumlow, not with him. Peter whimpered and tried to turn his body away from whoever was there, but Rumlow held him tightly. The struggling just made his cock bob uselessly.

“Let’s show them what a slut you are.” Rumlow let go of Peter's wrist and grabbed his cock. Peter inhaled sharply. He grabbed Rumlow’s forearm with both of his hands. Rumlow tightened the chokehold in warning. He fisted Peter’s cock, applying a steady pressure. Peter tried to pull his hips away, but the only direction to go was into Rumlow’s crotch. Peter bit his lip and tried to hold himself back. He wouldn’t come. Not like this. Not when some unknown number of people and creatures were watching. Not when Rumlow was showing him off like some sort of specimen.

Rumlow was relentless, tugging on Peter’s cock and squeezing the head. Peter’s breath became short. He struggled in the man’s grip, but Rumlow didn’t seem to care. Peter felt his stomach knotting up. No! He pitched forward only to feel Rumlow’s arm digging into his throat. Peter wrenched his body to the side, and Rumlow squeezed his cock until Peter whimpered in pain. He pulled Peter back against his chest and continued to jerk him off.

After another few minutes of torture, Peter couldn’t hold back any longer. His cum spilled out of him in a pleasureless orgasm, and Rumlow had let go as soon as Peter’s climax hit, letting his cock twitch and shoot lines of cum in full view of the audience. The water hitting Peter’s cock soon became painful, and he pushed back against Rumlow, trying to escape it. Rumlow rotated Peter so that the water directly hit his bruised ribs before streaming down and over his crotch. Peter kept his eyes squeezed shut, hoping that his tears would blend in with the water on his face.

Rumlow finally shut off the water and walked Peter out of the shower. Peter cracked his eyes open to see where they going, and he saw the group that had amassed. A third of them were hydra men, and the rest were aliens of varying species. At least the aliens might have the excuse of being curious.

Rumlow sat him down on a bench. Peter didn’t move until Rumlow flung a towel at him. He quickly covered himself up. Although he was clothed, Rumlow was thoroughly soaked, and he walked to the end of the locker row where spare uniforms were stored.

Rumlow tossed Peter a black shirt and green cargo pants before changing himself. Peter stayed wrapped in his towel. Rumlow turned around as he pulled on his new shirt.

“Put clothes on,” He said gruffly. Peter looked down at the items he’d been handed.

“You didn’t give me any underwear,” Peter said quietly.

“You don’t need any,” Rumlow cracked a grin. “Are you really afraid to go commando after the whole base saw your slutty ass?” Peter ducked his head, ashamed. It wasn’t his fault. Rumlow made him do it. Rumlow took a step forward, and Peter flinched. He quickly reached for his shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: public nudity, humiliation, forced orgasm, also a lot of chokeholds
> 
> This was back to back smut, but the next few chapters are sfw (but still evil and fun).


	6. Searching for Purpose

They were on security duty, so Rumlow and Peter sat in the security room the whole day. Peter kept to himself. He tucked his knees up to his chest and stayed in a seat against the wall. The security technicians were there, and agents filtered in and out of the room, but Peter didn’t talk. Rumlow, on the other hand, seemed more than happy to talk to their visitors.

“Yeah, he’s over there.” Peter heard Rumlow say. Peter looked up. Someone was leaning on the console Rumlow was at and looking at Peter.

“Ah. I almost didn’t recognize him wearing clothes,” The colleague chuckled. Peter set his chin on his knees. He wanted to make himself even smaller— to disappear from existence. “Well, let me know if you ever need help with… y’know—“

“Oh, I will,” Rumlow promised, and Peter could literally feel his smirk. The colleague patted Rumlow’s shoulder and walked out.

“Brock, we’ve got a ship requesting to leave. It’s not on the schedule,” A technician said. Rumlow stood up and looked over her shoulder. He pressed down a button.

“Hey. You’re not on our log,” Rumlow said. There was a brief pause and then some sort of language response, but it sounded like gibberish to Peter. He didn’t know if he could even make those noises. Somehow, though, Rumlow seemed to understand it.

“Log as in schedule of who leaves and when, not a tree,” Rumlow clarified. He waited. More gibberish.

“What’s the name of the agent who cleared you?”

This time, the gibberish did seem to resemble some sort of human sound.  _ June’s _ . Rumlow took his hand away from the button, and the technician grabbed a clipboard. Rumlow pulled a walkie talkie from his belt 

“Jones, Rumlow. Did you clear that Skandor ship?”

“Jones here. There’s no contraband and their cargo is what they paid for. They said they just have other business to attend to. Over.”

“Copy,” Rumlow put his walkie talkie away. He pressed the button down again. “You’re good to go.” Rumlow sat back down in his chair. Peter watched one of the screens as a hangar door opened up and a ship flew out. If he could just figure out what floor that was…

“If there are no windows in here, but this is the top floor, where is that? If it was under us, wouldn’t it be underground too?” Peter asked. Rumlow looked over his shoulder.

“Oh. You are alive back there,” He said.

“Yeah,” Peter mumbled. He waited a moment to confirm that Rumlow wasn’t going to say anything else. The man seemed to have already forgotten that Peter had spoken. “So how is there a hangar underground?”

“It’s not,” Rumlow said. Peter tilted his head in case Rumlow would say more, but he didn’t. He probably knew what the teenager was getting at.

After some time, Peter dozed off. He woke to his Spider-senses flaring in warning. He opened his eyes and saw Rumlow approaching. Peter got to his feet. Seeing that Peter was awake, Rumlow changed his course to the elevator.

“Let’s go,” Rumlow said. Peter trailed after him. Rumlow pressed the button for the cafeteria, and Peter’s heart rose slightly. He was starving.

Rumlow didn’t offer him any food. Peter didn’t ask. He hated it, but he was actually scared to ask. He couldn’t have a repeat of that morning. Now that they were around others, Peter felt eyes crawling all over his skin. He didn’t even know who had or hadn’t seen Rumlow ‘displaying’ him that morning. He no longer knew if the looks thrown at him were curiosity, pity, or lust. Peter stared at Rumlow as he ate. He was a kicked puppy begging for scraps, but at the same time, he just wanted Rumlow to finish so they could leave. He wanted to go to Rumlow’s room— something he didn’t think he’d ever find himself wanting. He just needed to get away from everyone else.

Rumlow talked with friends, but after a while, they went upstairs, and Rumlow worked for a while. He made sure Peter was properly restrained this time before he went to sleep. The whole night went without incidence so thankfully, Rumlow gave Peter breakfast. Peter forced his hand down between bites to make sure that he didn’t throw up again. It helped that someone seemed to acknowledge his existence for once. Rumlow had gotten up and left Peter at the table for a few minutes. In that time, a guy sat down near Peter, working on a laptop. Peter kept his head down at first.

“You’re Spider-Man, aren’t you?” The guy asked. Peter glanced at him.

“I guess,” Peter mumbled. He hadn’t done much Spider-Man work for a while, and he hadn’t even done a good job when he did. Europe was a disaster.

“I’ve always wondered. If teenagers are inseparable from their phones, and there’s footage out there of you with your phone, where do you put it when you swing?” The guy questioned. Peter looked at him. 

“No one’s really asked me that before,” He took another bite of his scrambled eggs.

“Well, what’s the answer?”

“I have a pocket in the suit. It’s on my thigh so it doesn’t add weight or get in the way when I’m moving around,” Peter replied. The man seemed genuinely interested and a bit chatty. Maybe he would be helpful. “So, what is it that you do here?”

“I’m a biologist. I’m researching the organisms that come to visit, and I’m also seeing if any of their tech might help us with biology. Did you know that they have bandages that actually speed healing?” The guy raised his coffee mug. “It’s amazing.”

Peter smiled. “That does sound cool. Do you have the biological makeup or technology behind it?”

“Oh, not yet, but I’m working on it. I’ve already started a prototype inspired by Helen Cho’s cradle,” The guy said. Peter perked up.

“I’ve actually met her a few times. Tony— the Avengers— she works with them. I might be able to help. Can I look?” Peter asked politely. The guy nodded and turned his laptop toward Peter. Peter felt a small rise of adrenaline. He had a connection to the outside. Peter focused his eyes on the screen, pretending to take in the blueprint but actually skimming for other information. It was 10:32am. The laptop was connected to WiFi. If he could see the network, it might give him a hint to where he was.

“I’m gonna alt+tab to the other versions you have pulled up,” Peter said. He reached for the keyboard. A hand grabbed his wrist.

“Are you fucking stupid?” Rumlow growled. Peter paled. However, the anger wasn’t directed at him. “He’s not allowed near any technology.”

“I was just showing him—“

“Period,” Rumlow let go of Peter’s wrist and pushed the laptop back to the guy. He sat down next to Peter and across from the guy.

“No harm intended, Brock,” The guy said. He was on edge now, but to his credit, he didn’t leave.

“Don’t fuck up my asset, Josh,” Rumlow hissed. Peter clenched his mouth shut at being referred to as an asset, but he didn’t want to challenge it. Not now. Not when he was actually making headway on a lead. Josh seemed intrigued, and he might be able to help Peter. He just needed Rumlow to not scare him away.

“Josh was explaining what he does. He doesn’t just watch things all day,” Peter said. Rumlow shot a warning glance at Peter for the subtle dig. It went right over Josh’s head.

“Ah, well… if foreign species lived long enough to work out time travel, they must have a way to stay alive. Cancer would be the inevitable downfall, because our bodies simply aren’t made to last forever. So I’m looking to see how they’ve fixed that problem, and hopefully, we can bring it to Earth. When we fight, we’ll need it,” Josh rambled. Peter held up a hand.

“Wait, what fighting?” Peter asked. Josh laughed.

“If the Earth were to suddenly become readily available, what’s to stop an army from colonizing us?” Josh asked. 

“I don’t think they would do that,” Peter tilted his head. Most of the people here seemed peaceful, even if they felt a bit unsavory.

“Haven’t you taken history? Colonialism. It’s inevitable. Some aliens are gonna be here trying to teach us their ways and force us into changing. We just are left holding the small stick until we catch up,” Josh explained. Peter ate some more food. It made sense, he supposed, to try and hold some cards while the galaxy had the deck.

“What do these guys say?” Peter tilted his head toward the rest of the common space.

“They don’t talk much,” Rumlow answered.

“That’s because you don’t talk to  _ them _ ,” Josh clarified. Rumlow looked annoyed.

“We’re in control here,” He insisted.

“For now, yeah. But if you were to really sit down with these folk, some of them are genuinely curious about Earth,” Josh smiled at Peter. Peter smiled back. He liked Josh’s optimism, but the man kept going. “Some of them  _ are _ just here for the black market though. Some have been sent by their planets just to scout the planet out.”

Peter swiveled his head to Rumlow. “What black market?”

“It’s just stuff they think is cool, like computers, nanotech, steel, and some small game,” Rumlow said dismissively.

“Game? Like animals?” Peter pressed.

“Sure,” Rumlow said.

“Agents will take groups of foreigners out on excursions to see the planet without being spotted by any humans,” Josh added.

“Really? When do we get to go on one of those?” Peter asked. Rumlow set down his fork in annoyance.

“What is this, an information session?” He hissed. “Never. You’re never going on a mission outside of this base. Not anytime soon. Josh, stop spoon-feeding the asset intel.”

“It’s not intel. It’s just facts!” Peter defended.

“Then why do you want to know?” Rumlow growled. 

“I’m curious,” Peter mumbled. Rumlow didn’t believe him. Josh still didn’t leave, but they ate the rest of breakfast in silence. Rumlow stood up and put his tray away. It only took one stern look for Peter to follow behind him.

* * *

Peter sat on a crate while Rumlow and a few others checked incoming and outgoing ships. Usually, two would stand outside with the crew while whoever was left searched the inside. Peter was starting to recognize some of the Hydra agents. He thought one of them had eaten food with him and Rumlow at some point.

No one asked Peter to do anything for a while, so he didn’t. He just watched. Eventually, though an agent came over, didn’t bother introducing himself, and started explaining what was and wasn’t allowed. In general, any technology, living beings, and gemstones were banned. Metals were fine as long as they weren’t vibranium. On incoming ships, they were checking for an excessive amount of weapons or anything that looked like a bomb.

The agent pulled out a tablet, but he kept it out of Peter’s reach. He explained the spreadsheet of ship descriptions, phonetic names, and notes about passengers and cargo. Every ship had to leave with the same number of passengers it came with. It was relatively straightforward, and Peter couldn’t find too many problems with it. It seemed to be regulated, and he hadn’t seen anyone taking things that were a huge harm to the earth. Peter wondered if they could actually take the bad things like pollution or excess carbon monoxide into space for them. He asked.

“I don’t know. Don’t really care. That’s not our problem,” The agent shrugged. He looked up as a ship entered the hanger. “We’ll check this one.”

Peter followed him to the ship, and he could feel Rumlow keeping an eye on him. When the aliens got off the ship and started talking to a pair of agents, Peter and the agent orienting him walked into the cargo hold. Rumlow followed— not to search, but just to keep an eye on Peter.

Peter felt sparks of excitement at being on board this ship. He wasn’t bold enough to touch anything, but a lot of the equipment looked like things he either saw in sci-fi movies or had never seen at all. He felt a seat, and it was soft, but he couldn’t describe what it was like. He just wanted to wrap himself in it.

The agent started knocking on the walls of the ship with his fist, moving from the back to the front. Peter thought he heard it change.

“Hold on,” Peter said. He looked at the agent and stepped closer. “Go back a bit.” The agent looked at him like he was crazy, but he did it. Peter listened.

“It sounds different,” Peter said. He tapped his own hand on the wall. It sounded hollow right… there. Peter found an edge. He felt around for a corner. Rumlow reached past Peter and pushed on a panel of the wall that protruded. The hatch unlocked, and Peter was able to open it.

Peter grabbed Rumlow’s shoulder and pulled him to the ground just before a blast of energy shot out. A smaller creature jumped out of its hiding hole. The agent with them tried to shoot them, but the alien shot the agent first.

“Breach!” Rumlow shouted. Shouts came from outside the hull, and gunfire erupted in the form of bullets and blasts. Rumlow pulled Peter out of the ship and behind a crate. Rumlow leaned on the crate and fired off his gun a few times. A blast of energy made wood on the other side of the crate splinter and explode.

“You think you can just sneak a little fucker in here?” Rumlow growled. He popped up over the crate and fired again. Peter stayed down during the shootout. He wasn’t sure which side to be on, really. He didn’t think he knew enough. After maybe 30 seconds or a minute of shooting back and forth between the ship and multiple points in the hangar, the sound of fighting died down. Peter peered over the crate. All three of the aliens who had walked off were dead. The agent who had taught Peter was unresponsive, and another agent had a red, blistering burn being tended to. Peter looked on in concern. Is that what the alien guns do?

Rumlow stood up, walking carefully toward the cargo hold. Peter heard an inhuman shout of surprise when Rumlow found the smaller alien who had attacked them upon discovery. As Peter caught up, Rumlow held them at gunpoint. The alien was on the ground and their weapon had clattered away.

“What was that about?” Peter asked the alien, as if they would answer. They actually did answer. Peter didn’t understand in the slightest. It seemed like there was intonation, but Peter just heard weird squealing.

“Shut up,” Rumlow ordered. He shot the alien in the head. Peter jumped back.

“What the fuck?!” Peter yelled. There were bits of alien guts and brain on the floor. Peter tried to look away. “He wasn’t fighting you!”

“Not at the moment,” Rumlow shrugged.

“He was unarmed. Didn’t you want to get information? A trial?!” Peter was beside himself. Rumlow couldn’t care less.

“No. I’m good,” Rumlow tucked his gun away and looked at other Hydra agents. “Someone page the cleanup crew.”

“You just killed him,” Peter insisted. “You didn’t have to.”

“They know what happens if they break the rules.”

“What if they had a good reason?” Peter challenged. Rumlow backhanded him, taking him by surprise. Peter stumbled back.

“It’s not your place,” Rumlow said flatly, and there went Peter’s lunch for the day. He rested his head on the table as the others got their food, ruminating. He would never shoot someone in cold blood. It was just wrong. He tried to see how Rumlow might justify it, but with every argument in either direction, Peter refuted himself.

They couldn’t know if the alien had been dangerous or not. Maybe they could’ve restrained and questioned them, but Peter didn’t know for sure that the alien didn’t have super strength or mental powers that could wipe out the room. Rumlow might’ve been trying to just avoid work, but wasn’t dealing with the remains and the lack of trust from the other aliens more work? Did Hydra just not care? But if they didn’t care, why were they regulating things at all? How were they even communicating with the aliens? How did everyone seem to magically understand each other?

Peter listened hard. He couldn’t make out what anyone not speaking a human language was saying, or even if they were angry or calm. It was all one giant cacophony. There had to be some sense to it all. There had to be a better option than destroying whatever they didn’t understand. Peter turned his head to the other side and looked up at Rumlow.

“Couldn’t we use a system that gives us a chance to understand why they do what they do instead of killing them? We’ve got to be able to do better,” Peter said. He didn’t even notice he’d interrupted their conversation. Rumlow cocked an eyebrow.

“Now you want to help?”

“I don’t want anyone to die that doesn’t have to,” Peter said, and he meant it. He really did. “Maybe we could develop a strike system. Or if you’re scared they’re gonna fight you, just hold them at gunpoint with the safety on until you figure it out. They won’t even know.”

“Whatever you want to tell yourself, kid,” Rumlow rolled his eyes. Peter frowned. He would come up with a plan so good that they wouldn’t be able to ignore him. Something easy to implement and safe for most of them. It couldn’t be that hard to beat how things worked now. Peter furrowed his brow in thought.

“Man, he’s something,” Micky chuckled. Peter forced himself not to respond. Rumlow huffed.

“Yeah, he is.”

“Why don’t you just have them condition him like they did with the Winter Soldier?” Micky asked. Peter tensed. He’d only met Bucky once or twice. He’d read the stories in the news after Berlin and had it explained to him by Rhodes, but he didn’t know the details— just that it was hydra’s doing and it wasn’t Bucky’s choice.

“Because as soon as the asset met the Captain, we were fucked. So this time we’re fucking  _ him _ ,” Rumlow explained. Peter's face paled, and he snuck glances at the other agents. They didn’t seem to take it for what it actually meant— just that they were taking a different approach with Peter. Peter wasn’t sure which approach he’d prefer. “It’s a lot harder to undo conditioning than programming.”

“It sounds annoying,” Another agent scoffed.

“Oh, he is,” Rumlow said. He clapped a hand on Peter’s shoulder, causing him to jump. Rumlow smirked. “I do get something out of it though.”


	7. Complicit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has fallen into a rhythm with Hydra, whether he likes it or not. He looks for ways to fix the system from the inside, but some things can't be fixed.

The next few days passed without incidence. Peter stayed quiet and out of the way. He didn’t actively survey the community like he was supposed to, but when asked, he would tell Rumlow he was brainstorming improvements, and Rumlow didn’t care enough to call him out on not focusing. To be fair, Peter  _ was _ focusing on improvements. There had to be a better solution than just murdering anyone who caused problems. He tried to suggest a justice system, but he was quickly (and firmly) told that there was one; It was just zero-tolerance.

Peter didn’t think it was really zero-tolerance, considering that when they broke up fights, everyone was allowed to return to what they were doing, but he didn’t want to call Hydra out on it. He worried it would result in them shooting anyone who fought over the last brownie.

Speaking of food, Peter’s fly-on-the-wall attitude was getting him three meals a day, if not because Rumlow didn’t have a strong reason to take his food away. Peter had been less daring since the shower incident, and his decrease in rebellion meant he was getting punished less often. He was able to stomach meals more easily, and he didn’t look as gauntly thin. Things were… ok. As hard as Peter resisted Hydra as a group, he was struggling not to become too docile.

He had another internal debate as he watched Rumlow and some other Hydra agents messing with alien weapons. Some engineering-type agents were sketching the general design of the weapons, but Rumlow and his buddies were itching to test them. Rumlow picked up a gun that had glowing purple wires. The purple seemed to come from a clear cartridge attached to the top, filled to the brim with purple slush.

Rumlow walked away from the table of weapons with his friend Hank in tow. Peter frowned and got to his feet to watch as they went deeper into the testing area. Peter leaned against a corner. There was a slight whir that quickly increased in intensity, and then a glowing, purple ball ejected from the gun. Peter heard the sound of a wall crumbling. His eyes widened. They were going to collapse the bunker! Peter sprinted over.

“Ooh. Now that’s fun,” Hank was saying to Rumlow. Peter got to them and saw the damage. It was a small piece of wall— not touching any part of the actual bunker— that had been demolished. It was some 20 yards away, but the exploded bits of concrete had almost reached Hank and Rumlow. Rumlow looked up at Peter and smiled.

“Peter, come try this,” Rumlow said gleefully. Peter shook his head.

“Be careful,” Peter warned. Rumlow’s smile dropped.

“That’s an order,” Rumlow growled. Peter shifted uncomfortably. Don’t give in. Don’t give in… Rumlow stared at him. “Fine, I guess we’ll just have to—“ Rumlow stopped talking when Peter dragged his feet toward him. He stood tensely next to Rumlow.

“Over a few steps,” Rumlow said. He grabbed Peter’s arm and pulled him several yards to the left, where there was another concrete wall piece waiting. Peter didn’t move except for when Rumlow moved him. Rumlow pressed the weapon into Peter’s right hand and pushed his left hand to the trigger. Well, less a trigger and more of a two-sided grip that could be squeezed to fire.

“It has a lot of kick, so spread your legs a bit,” Rumlow instructed. He nudged his foot between Peter’s feet and wiggled them apart to widen his stance. Rumlow took Peter’s shoulders, and the teen flinched, but he didn’t shake the man off. Rumlow turned him diagonal to the target. “Rest the back on your shoulder like.. yeah, like that.”

Peter stood there, holding the gun properly, but tensely. He didn’t like it. That much power didn’t belong in the hands of one person. Peter wasn’t skilled enough to deserve it. Rumlow couldn’t give two shits.

“Let it rip,” Hank encouraged. Rumlow nodded his approval. Peter hesitated. Rumlow would make him fire it anyway, and he would punish him if Peter didn’t do it voluntarily. It was just a wall, and the wall wasn’t load-bearing. Peter took a careful breath and squeezed his left hand. The same whir as before, and the weapon jolted in Peter’s hands, hitting his shoulder and making him jump. The purple ball of energy smashed into the new wall, sending bits of concrete in all directions. There was a clear hole straight through the wall. Peter relaxed in relief. No one was hurt.

Rumlow shook his shoulder. “Good job, kid.” Peter looked up at him, confused. The praise felt… nice, and Peter almost wanted to say that the explosion  _ had _ been pretty cool. He didn’t. He handed the weapon back to Rumlow instead. 

* * *

“Do you understand them?” Peter asked, setting down his fork. Rumlow looked up and then around at the rest of the cafeteria.

“Bits and pieces,” Rumlow said.

“So like, is there a common space language that you’re learning?” Peter asked. Rumlow looked at him blankly.

“Is there a reason you’re asking?” Rumlow questioned.

“No, not really,” Peter said. He kept talking though. “But if you don’t understand them, I don’t see how we could implement a justice system. There needs to be a language.”

“A justice system… cute..,” Rumlow scoffed in amusement, and Peter forced a smile onto his face. He didn’t even see Rumlow reach for him, and it happened so fast that all he heard was the bang of his arm hitting the table. Rumlow’s hand was around Peter’s wrist, and Peter’s face dropped. Rumlow had yanked Peter forward, forcing him to lean on the table. Peter scrambled to get his legs under him. “Some languages… like violence… are universal.”

Rumlow released Peter’s wrist, and Peter fell back onto the bench. His heart beat rapidly. Fear, then. Fear was universal too. These aliens were afraid to start trouble. Peter rubbed his wrist. He was too.

* * *

The next evening, Rumlow and Peter were on hangar duty again. Peter always felt on edge because there were so many unknown ships and devices around him, but at least it was interesting. Additionally, Rumlow had begun to trust him to check ships after the stowaway incident.

“Go see if they’re hiding anything,” Rumlow instructed. He looked over the list of cargo on a clipboard as the crew stood in front of him. Peter nodded and maneuvered between some crates to get to the back of the ship. He froze.

_ People _ .

There were  _ people  _ on this ship. Human people. They were chained together like some sort of historic chain gang. Every single one was gagged. Peter almost tripped as he backpedaled.

“RUMLOW!” Peter screeched. Rumlow looked up in alarm as Peter flew around the side of the ship. “They have people! Humans.” Rumlow’s face settled. Oh.

“Did you count how many?”

“Did I—? What?” Peter gaped.

“How many are there?” Rumlow repeated. Peter’s brain struggled to understand. He went on autopilot and checked behind him.

“12..,” Peter breathed. Rumlow checked something on the keyboard. He looked up at the crew.

“You’re good to go.” Rumlow set the clipboard down and turned to Peter for the inevitable backlash.

“You’re letting them take people?!” Peter yelled.

“They’re nobodies. All homeless or runaways,” Rumlow shrugged.

“They’re still  _ people _ !” Peter argued. Hell,  _ he _ was a homeless runaway. He watched the crew as they conversed at the back of the ship. Hydra couldn’t get away with this. Peter would save them. He threw a punch at Rumlow, and the man stumbled back in surprise. He rubbed his jaw and looked up at Peter. Shit.

As Rumlow charged at him, Peter kicked, aiming for his stomach. Rumlow caught his foot and used Peter’s own momentum to pull him off balance. A hand on Peter’s chest, and the boy was thrown backwards. He wheezed as his back hit the floor, pushing all the wind out of him.

Peter coughed and rolled onto his side. Rumlow went to kick him in the stomach, and Peter threw his hands down to protect himself. Rumlow had anticipated it and changed directions to collide with Peter’s face. Peter covered his nose as he felt blood starting to collect. Rumlow watched him for a moment. Peter wasn’t getting up. Not at the current moment. He had to bide his time.

“Look,” Rumlow growled. “I don’t want to hear any of this whining. I’m going to hit the crapper, and when I get back, you’ll have gotten over it. Otherwise, I’ll give you something else to think about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bit shorter, but lots of things will start happening in the next chapter.


	8. On the Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter makes a stand, but he falls hard. With Hydra furious, Peter has to think quickly.

People. Hydra was trafficking humans— letting the aliens take them for god knows what. Did Hydra even know what was happening to them? Probably not. They seemed to only give the absolute minimum amount of care. Rumlow had walked away, and it took Peter a few moments to unscramble his brain. He had to help. Peter got to his feet. He knew there were other Hydra agents around, but none of them were in his eyeline.

Peter thought quickly. The back of the ship was still open. He hurried over. The crew was in the cockpit.  The back was filled with various wooden crates. Peter made a ‘Shh’ motion to the captives and looked at the chains. They were looped into the wall. Peter heard someone coming.

He slipped off the ship and found a nearby crate of parachutes. He listened as the alien spoke to the people, and when they stopped, he peeked around the edge of the ship. He easily picked up the crate and set it down inside. He went to find another.

Peter heard a whirring and swung around. The ship’s door was closing. Peter’s body surged with adrenaline. He grabbed the parachute pack he was holding and launched himself toward the ship. He flew through the narrowing gap and landed with a thud, t he backpack flying out of his hand and onto the ground.

“Fleev Nee?” He heard. Peter rolled to his side, behind their storage crates, and to his relief, one of the prisoners kicked his backpack out of view. They could see Peter, but Peter couldn’t see the cockpit anymore. He watched their eyes to see when there was no more threat.

“I’m gonna help,” Peter whispered. “Just give me a second.” He could break the chains himself, but it would be loud, so he just wanted to check for keys. He looked among the secured cargo of the ship and forced open a box. He dug through the straw. He found something that was shaped like a “Y”. He pressed the button.

The device in his hand grew warm, and a blue laser went between the tips. Was it a taser or a laser? Peter carefully touched the crate with the glowing line. It went clean through the wood. He ran to the prisoners and hid behind them. Peter started lasering through the chains. He left one hand of each person attached to one other person, making them into pairs instead of two groups of 6.

“Can anyone work a parachute?” He asked. No one answered. Peter frowned. They’d have to figure it out. He grabbed a chute from the box and started helping a scraggly lady attached to a girl about Peter’s age. He was finishing adjusting the straps when he heard the aliens in the cockpit speaking again.

“Jou!” Someone shouted suddenly. Peter’s spider-sense flared. He barely got to safety before he was blown away by an alien gun. He was behind the crates again, and he heard heavy footsteps coming closer. 

Peter grabbed one of the extra parachute packs and looped his arms through, just in case. He snuck around the crate in the middle to avoid the alien as they rounded the corner to check for him. The alien was big and yellow, reminding Peter of a character out of Monsters Incorporated. They seemed suspicious, looking at the parachute crate as if Peter might be able to hide inside. Peter pounced.

He shot out from his hiding spot and punched the alien. His hand sunk into fatty flesh, and the excess skin absorbed the impact of his punch. The alien made a noise, but didn’t seem to have been hurt. Peter pulled his hand back, just barely missing the swipe that was made at his arm. He stumbled back into something else. Somebody else. Peter dove to his left, colliding with another box. The top slid off and clattered loudly on the ground.

Peter looked up as they approached, guns out. He wouldn’t be able to get everyone off in time. Not unless they landed. He looked into the crate behind him, spotting a black gun with glowing purple lines. Peter’s eyes widened. He grabbed the gun, and the aliens must not have expected him to arm himself, because they had to scramble for their own guns. Peter blasted the wall of the ship.

A hole ripped open, air rushing out. Peter’s breath was taken away from him for a moment as the ship rushed to equalize. A blaring alarm started, and the room flashed red. The newer-arrived alien, this one blue, grabbed his arm, and Peter hit him, trying to break the hold. Peter couldn’t even tell if he was outmatched or not. He managed to throw the blue alien off of him, but the yellow one rammed into him, forcing him into the wall. Peter could feel the wind whipping around his body. He stuck his hand and two feet to the ship with his powers as he tried to fend off the yellow alien with his one free hand. Thick, yellow fingers wrapped around his shoulders. Peter was pulled away from the wall and then slammed back against it. His shoulders ached in protest.

They shifted, and suddenly, all the air was sucking at Peter’s body. His left hand flew out to attach himself to the ship, to stay inside at all costs. Sticking to the hull with all four limbs left him exposed, and the blue alien kicked him in the stomach. Peter reflexively pulled his arms in to protect himself, and just like that, he was outside.

Peter yelped as his side hit the hull on his way out, and then he was falling. Peter twisted to see the ship quickly moving away from him among the clouds. Peter fell into a fog, which he quickly realized from the cold mist on his face was actually a cloud. He fell through the other side and watched the cloud cover up the hole he’d created.

Peter’s body screamed. He couldn’t breathe. There wasn’t enough oxygen. Peter wheezed. He turned onto his side to try and get air in that way. Mountains were several thousand feet below him.

Peter opened his eyes again, and it seemed like only a couple thousand. He felt his shoulders and flushed with relief when he found he still had the backpack. He struggled to clip the straps together with cold, clumsy fingers. He pulled the cord.

Peter yelped again as his body was yanked upwards roughly, and he felt around for the parachute's controls. Were there even any? Peter’s eyes noted some buildings far in the distance just as he slipped into the trees. Branches smacked and scratched Peter as he fell, and the parachute was caught on the trees. He came to a stop maybe 30 feet above the ground.

Peter waited a minute, drinking in the feeling of just being alive at all. He watched his breath cloud the air in front of him. It was colder here than it had been in New York, and hints of snow laid on the trees. The sun was setting. Peter reached for the clasps of his parachute and undid them. He stuck onto the closest tree branch and scrambled down to the forest floor. He let himself fall onto his back among the dirt and leaves.

Peter looked up at the sky. He hoped the ship had landed somewhere. Maybe they’d go back to get repairs. Although, that also meant Hydra know Peter was gone. Peter eyed the parachute tangled in the trees. They would track it. They would find him. He wanted to rest but he needed to move.

Peter pressed his hand against the tree and winced when he sat upright. He was on a hill. Downhill would lead to the buildings he’d seen. He was sure his body was red from the straps going taut. His clothes were cut in several places, and he was bleeding. Peter sighed and started working his way down the hill.

After some time, Peter found a stream. He cupped his hands and went to drink from it, but the water was freezing. Peter quickly pulled his hands back and tucked them under his armpits. He wished he’d gotten a jacket from Hydra, too. He knew his thermoregulation was shit, and he’d freeze if he didn’t keep moving. Peter settled on walking alongside the creek. It led to a river, and that river had a bridge. The bridge had a road. Peter followed the road until finally, at last, he came to the edge of a town.

Peter tried to ignore the stinging of cold metal against his bare hands as he climbed a warehouse. A church stuck up in the middle of town, and the road he was on led right to it. Peter flipped down from the warehouse, landing on a mound of plowed snow. Cold snow sunk into his shoes. Oops. Peter slid down from the mound. The center of town was where he’d be most likely to get caught, but also where he might be able to get help.

* * *

Peter cringed at the doorbell that rang when he entered the drug store. He ducked into an aisle before the store attendant saw him. The woman still called out from the counter. “Hello?”

“Hi,” Peter squeaked. “Do you have a bathroom?”

“In the back. You have to make a purchase though,” She answered. Peter felt a pang of guilt as he searched for the bathroom. He didn’t have any money. Still, he couldn’t go anywhere the way his arms looked. When he flicked on the light in the bathroom, he saw his face wasn’t any better. It had several light scratches from the trees, and his lip had blood from his nose on it.

Peter locked the door and turned on the sink. A pile of bloody paper towels accumulated on the counter, but at the very least, Peter looked much cleaner. There were only a couple instances of scabbing on his face, and he didn’t think anyone would look at his arms too closely. Peter gathered up the towels and pushed them down in the trash can. He threw a couple of cleaner paper towels on top. When Hydra came looking for him, they’d probably still find it, but bread crumbs were better than bread loaves. Peter shyly made his way to the counter.

“Excuse me?” Peter stood meekly, worried she’d be mad about the bathroom thing.

“Yes?” She asked. Peter bit his lip.

“Can I borrow your phone?”

“You don’t have one?” The woman asked. Peter shrugged. He knew it was suspicious. Every kid his age had a phone, if not most adults on the planet.

“I forgot it at home.”

“Mhmm,” She hummed, not seeming convinced.

“My parents might be worried, and they’ll be upset with me if I walk all the way back in the snow,” Peter lied. “I just want to let them know I’m here.”

“You walked here in a short sleeve shirt?” She looked at him. Peter wrapped his arms around his waist to hide the cuts. She wasn’t buying any of this, was she? She probably already knew who he was. “And how do I know you won’t just take my phone, run off, and sell it for cash?”

“I won’t,” Peter said quickly, and what he hoped came off as earnestly.

“Do I look like I was born yesterday?” She scoffed. Peter looked down at his feet. The woman sighed. “Tell you what. I’ll give you seventy-five cents. There’s an old-school phone booth by the bus stop. I’m not sure it works, but it might.”

Peter’s face lit up. “That works!” He watched as she reached into the tip jar and pulled out some of the bigger coins. Two quarters, a couple dimes, and a nickel. “Thank you,” Peter said. “Really, thank you.”

“Mhmm,” The woman hummed, relatively unaffected. “Were you going to buy anything?”

“Oh,” Peter’s face fell. He forgot about that. He’d used the bathroom, and he quickly searched for a solution. His eyes flicked around. “If you give me a nickel, I can buy a laffy taffy.”

“Just go,” She sighed. Peter nodded.

“Ok. Thank you. Have a good day,” Peter backed toward the door. “Thanks!”

He looked outside, where it was just starting to get dark. The phone booth was on the other side of the square. Peter looked both ways but the streets were quiet. He hurried into the booth and held his breath as he slipped in fifty cents. He heard the dial tone. Thank god. Although, this next bit wasn’t exactly going to be easy.

Peter hit three buttons and then the green phone icon.

“911. What’s your emergency?”

Peter didn’t know how to start. After a moment, the operator called for him. “Hello?”

“Hi,” Peter said, dumbly.

“Can I help you?”

“Yeah. I, uh... I need to turn myself in,” Peter said. There was a pause on the other side.

“What’s your name and where are you?”

“I’m Peter Parker. I don’t know where I am,” It was the first time in months that he’d said his own name, and it felt weird. He looked around, as if some icon would tell him where he was. He waited as there was another pause. He heard some shuffling before the woman spoke again.

“Young man, are you aware that prank calling 911 is against the law?”

“It’s not a prank,” Peter said. He pushed his way out of the phone booth, stretching the cord as he checked the newspaper. Maine. He was in Maine. “I promise. I’m Peter Parker. Spider-Man.”

“Our system shows you in Maine,” The woman said. Peter’s heart dropped. Of course they could see where he was. He was using a wired phone. And if they could find him, so could everyone else. What the hell was he doing? This wasn’t safe.

“I know, I know,” Peter said quickly. He was already glancing around for anyone who looked shifty. “Look, I’ll tell you where I will be. New York. Tomorrow… uh, 5pm?”

“We have a marked officer en route to your location,” She said. Peter could hear the siren start, and it was a couple miles away.

“I can’t. I’m sorry,” Peter tapped his hand against the phone. “Look, this is gonna sound really crazy, but just listen.” Peter took a deep breath.

“Hydra’s back, or I guess they never really left, but they kidnapped me, so I couldn’t turn myself in, and now I know a bunch of stuff, and they’re probably gonna try to kill me before I can say it, so here: they’re harboring aliens and letting them traffic people and other things, and it’s really,  _ really _ bad. I can’t stay because they’re gonna find me.” Peter could hear the sirens getting closer, and the sun had gone, so Peter figured he would see them soon.

“I can say more but they’re gonna kill me, and I’m sure you guys are really trained and stuff, and no offense to you, but you can’t protect me. I need the Avengers. Tomorrow at 5pm. I can meet you in Times Square, but I can only trust the Avengers. Colonel James Rhodes. I need Rhodey to be there. Please.”

“Sir, wait. Please stay on the line,” The operator said. Peter shook his head.

“I’m sorry. I’ll be there. I promise,” Peter hung up the phone. He could see the siren lights reflecting off buildings down the street. Peter ran. He took several blocks and weaves between the small town buildings until he found a gas stop. There was a covered truck there. Peter bolted and dove through the small gap.

Peter landed on a bed of woodchips. He heard sirens outside. A door opened and closed. He heard another chime from the direction of the gas station’s shop.

“What’s the holdup?” Someone asked with a southern accent.

“Sir, we’ve been advised that there’s a fugitive in the area. Do you mind if I check your truck?” A man said. Crap. Crap! Peter started digging down in the woodchips.

“Uh, I guess. It’s just wood though,” The southerner responded. Peter was only partially submerged in the woodchips, but he was trying not to rustle the tarp above him. Peter wriggled his body and did everything you  _ weren’t  _ supposed to do in movies with quicksand.

“Is this bit sturdy?”

“I don’t climb up there much, but I think so. It’s rustproof.”

As the policeman climbed the truck, Peter tucked his head into his chest and held his breath. He didn’t move a muscle. There was a pause.

“Come out with your hands up,” The policeman ordered. Peter’s blood ran cold. No, no! He couldn’t fight the police. He wouldn’t hurt them. But if he went with them, Hydra would probably murder everyone he came into contact with. Peter wanted to cry.

He heard a walkie beep. “East gas station is clear.”

The steps descended, and Peter let out a shaky breath. He still didn’t move.

“You have a good day,” The police officer said.

“I hope y’all catch him.” The truck owner responded. Peter waited, unsure if it was a trap. Peter heard two car doors open and close. The truck turned over. His stomach lurched as the truck started to move.

Peter waited as long as he could, but the woodchips surrounded him in a way that reminded him too much of rubble. He pushed his hands away from his body and broke the surface. He had been a foot or so under the highest woodchips, but Peter still waited another few minutes before army-crawling to the edge of the truck.

Cold air drifted in through the edge of the tarp, and it rustled with the wind flowing over it. Peter turned woodchips over in his hand, waiting for the wind’s power to increase. He felt the truck tilting downhill, and then the sound of the wind grew. Peter moved to the corner and watched the occasional glimpses that the movement of the tarp provided him. It took a couple of miles, but he determined that the road signs going the other way pointed North. It meant he was going south, toward New York. Peter finally let his body relax. He was safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this radiates Iron Man 3 vibes, which was not intentional, but I'm not complaining either.


	9. Custody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Safety is so close that Peter can almost taste it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not nsfw but maybe check the tags if people dying bothers you

Peter woke up to the sound of a dog barking. He popped his head up and put his hand to the wall. The truck was off. It wasn’t moving. They were parked.

_ Search dogs _ . The realization hit Peter like a ton of bricks. Of course the police would be looking for him. He just told them where he was and where he’d be going. They wouldn’t want to risk such a public arrest. Peter grabbed the side of the truck, hyping himself up to fight. The barking got closer.

“Wally!” A female voice shouted, and the barking stopped. “Stop!” Running feet approached, but it was just the one pair.

“Come here, boy,” She said. Peter heard a groan. “You’re so annoying. Come on.” The footsteps retreated. Peter peeked out tentatively. He saw a girl, maybe just a couple years younger than him, walking away with her hand looped in a dog’s collar. Peter his again and caught his breath. He was safe. For now.

He needed to make sure he was still headed the right direction. Peter looked around before jumping out of the truck and quickly moving away. They were at a rest stop, and the sun was up, but it was low. A thin layer of dew rested on the grass as Peter walked to the rest stop’s bathroom. He brushed off woodchips as he went.

In the bathroom, he got as much wood and dust out of his hair as he could, but a trucker was giving him a weird look. Peter washed his hands and hurried outside. He looked at the map, which thankfully showed where they were. New Canaan. It looked like an hour or two out of New York City.

Peter walked to the entrance ramp that went south and he waited. He found an 18-wheeler to jump onto, and he laid on top. It took a few jumps between trucks, but Peter found his way into the city, and when he got to Manhattan, it was mid-day.

Peter stopped by an old abandoned building he used to use, only to find it under construction. He stuck to the rooftops and checked for food in a few pizza alleys, but due to the time, other homeless people had already gone through what had been there, and restaurants hadn’t started tossing out food yet. Peter found another building under construction and climbed to a tall floor. No one was there, and he was able to sit.

Peter pulled his knees to his chest and hugged them. He knew this was risky. When he went out again, people would be looking for him, most likely. At the end of the day, he would be in custody, hopefully protected by the Avengers, or he would be dead. At least if he died, it would be trying to do the right thing. But he didn’t want to die. All he could do was hope.

Peter sat there, and he hoped so hard that things would be ok. He hoped that Rhodey would be there. He hoped that Rumlow wouldn’t. Hopefully they’d taken his word on the phone. The operator seemed to think it was a prank call, but the police liked to play it safe. They would tell the Avengers just in case it was real, right? But they’d keep it quiet too. It wasn’t something to make a spectacle of. If he turned out to be fake, it would be embarrassing.

Peter didn’t know what he’d say either. How was he going to explain where he’d been, how he knew what he knew, and why he never turned himself in at the beginning of all this. What if they saw that he’d helped Hydra some and charged him for that? He failed to save the people, he thought, but he’d tried. At the same time though, how many more people were trafficked while he ate Hydra’s food and wore Hydra’s clothes? Hours later, Peter didn’t have any more of an idea what to say, but it was time to go. He stepped to the edge of the open floor

Helicopters swirled around in the air. Some of them news helicopters, and some of them government. Some were unmarked. News vans littered the streets. Word must’ve gotten out. Peter tried to take as much cover as he could on his way to Times Square. He made it the whole 10 blocks and kneeled down on a roof so he’d be less visible. The big clock read 4:56.

Peter breathed a sigh of relief. He could see Rhodey. Iron Patriot stood inside of a barricaded area, with Falcon by his side. The police kept back scores of onlookers hoping to catch a glimpse of the action. Under an awning, Peter saw a flash of red fabric. Doctor Strange and his cape? Peter didn’t need to search much longer. They were here. The Avengers were here for him, and they would keep him safe. Peter steeled himself. He could do this. 60 seconds. A leap of faith, and he’d be safe. He stepped to the edge of the roof.

“Peter.”

Peter’s sense flared in warning and surprise. He hadn’t heard them approach. He turned around. “Mrs. Potts?”

“Hey,” Pepper said. She smiled softly, but as Peter noted, somewhat sadly. Peter glanced behind him at the Square below.

“What are you doing here?” Peter asked.

“Looking for you,” Pepper said. “You can come with me, if you want. We thought it might be quieter, easier. There’s a squad waiting inside for us. Rhodey knows we’re here.”

“Oh,” Peter said. After all this buildup, it was this easy. He could just walk. He stepped away from the edge. Pepper looked relieved.

“I know it’s been a long few months, Peter,” Pepper helps her arms open, and it took Peter a moment to process; she was offering him a hug. Peter felt a ball in his throat. He walked closer to her, his body buzzing. He trotted the last few steps into Pepper’s arms, throwing his own around her neck. Pepper hugged him back, strong and firm. Peter dug his chin into her shoulder. She smelled like oil and sweat.

Peter frowned. Oil? He gently pulled back to look at Pepper, but she held him so tightly that he couldn’t. Even though Peter had squirmed in the way that indicated he was done with the hug, she didn’t let go. Peter’s body shifted the tone of the tingling on his neck.

“Mrs. Potts?” Peter asked carefully.

“Yes, dear?” He said.  _ He _ said.

“No!” Peter yelped. The door to the roof burst open, and agents ran toward them. Not government agents;  _ Hydra _ agents. Rumlow wouldn’t let go of him. Peter grabbed Rumlow’s hair and pulled, but there wasn’t enough to grip. They stumbled back into a wall only to be pinned there by agents. Rumlow switched his arms to Peter’s head, squeezing his skull.

Peter pressed against the wall and the hands on his shoulder blades. They were injecting him with something. Peter broke free a moment later, scattering the agents touching him. A free agent whacked Peter’s head with a gun. Peter’s vision spun. Someone pinned him down. Peter fought, but it wasn’t working. He wasn’t getting them off. Wasn’t he strong enough?

“No!” Peter screamed. He looked at the giant screens of Times Square. He was close. They were right there. “Help!”

“‘ _ Help’ _ ,” Rumlow mocked. Rumlow grabbed the back of Peter’s shirt. They dragged him to the edge of the roof, and Rumlow shoved Peter’s torso onto the half wall. Peter’s arms were weak, but he still fought.

“You drugged me,” Peter realized. Rumlow kept Peter doubled over with an arm against his spine. Two other agents grabbed his arms, pinning them on the wall. Peter could see the square below. “HELP!”

“No one can hear you up here,” Rumlow scoffed. “But… you can hear them, can’t you?” He adjusted to get a more comfortable grip on the squirming teenager. “Look alive, boys. It’s almost time.”

Peter saw the clock change to 5:00. He stared as intensely as he could at Rhodey. Look up.  _ Look up! _ Rhodey looked around, but he didn’t notice them.

Peter felt the building quiver, and then an explosion came from the square. Peter felt his stomach lurch. Glass and debris from a storefront scattered into the street. People started to flee. Another explosion on the other side of the square. What?

He twisted to look at Rumlow, who smirked. “What are you doing?” Peter gasped. Rumlow’s smile grew even wider.

“The question is, Peter, what are  _ you _ doing?” Rumlow asked. Peter’s eyes flickered back to the square. People were at the edges of the square, but they weren’t leaving. There was something white blocking them. Peter tried to focus on the white.  _ Webs _ . They were being blocked by webs.

Two more explosions rocked the square. Everywhere Peter looked, web bombs had blocked the exits. People screamed and panicked. Sirens blared. Peter struggled.

“No, NO! What are you doing?” Peter shrieked. Professor Hulk ripped through a barrier of webs, and Doctor Strange used his magic to contain an explosion, but when every store was exploding one by one, there were too many to stop. The civilians couldn’t decide whether to fight the webs or take cover in the center. They were doing both.

Spider-Man swung between the buildings. The police looked up and opened fire. Falcon and Iron Patriot took off. Peter froze. How…?

“Don’t worry. They won’t catch you,” Rumlow murmured. “It’s pretty hard to hit a hologram.” Hologram? How was it a— The realization hit him.  _ Oh _ . Peter’s skin went pale. His mind plunged into panic.

“That’s right. We found some old friends of yours,” Rumlow chuckled. Peter couldn’t breathe. He watched Falcon and Iron Patriot disappear down the streets, chasing Spider-Man. Drones flew after the three of them, opening fire.

Peter heard a barrage of smaller explosions. The big TV across from them went black. Another explosion, and a chunk of the screen started to tip forward.

"NO!” Peter yelled, voice cracking. People were in the square. People were going to get hurt. The screen cracked under its own weight. The first third tipped down and folded over. Other chunks of wall and screen went over it. It was going to fall. It was going to fall!

With a second wind, Peter lurched backward. His arms pulled free of the agents. Rumlow caught him and tackled him down to the ground. Peter could only feel the gravel of the roof scratching his skin as the people below screamed in fear. A terrible crunch came with glass shattering. More agents came to secure Peter. Peter tried to see the square. He didn’t want to. He had to. Peter whirled onto his back. Rumlow punched him in the face.

“Ok, that’s enough. Hit him again,” Rumlow grit out. The tv made impact with the ground. Blood-curdling screams pierced his head. Peter blacked out.


	10. The Fruits of Failure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how I made some of this torture a bit of a slow burn, but... I guess I did. Go to end notes for content warnings if that kind of stuff concerns you.

The first thing Peter became aware of was the absolute pit in his stomach. It felt like a bowling ball was spinning around, churning his insides until Peter was so nauseous that he wanted to puke. But he wasn’t awake. He knew he wasn’t, just because things couldn’t be real.

The explosions were playing over and over again, looping to infinity, and Peter knew there wasn’t possibly that many people in Times Square and that much space to explode. The same woman kept screaming, and she should’ve stopped by now. Peter’s mind was torturing him. He couldn’t move. He didn’t know if he was still being pinned down after all this time, but it didn’t matter because his arms wouldn’t move more than an inch and his entire body ached.

Peter stayed half-awake in that nightmare-scape for some amount of time. He might’ve guessed a couple hours, but he knew time seemed to slow after trauma, and he knew dreams could be seconds-long and feel like days.

When he finally got his eyes open, he still couldn’t move, but he knew he was in a cell of some sort. It was the same size as Rumlow’s room, but empty except for the chair where Peter sat. Peter couldn’t see his arms, so they assumed they were behind him. A news feed was projected on the wall in front of him, looping footage and testimonies from Spider-Man’s terrorist attack on Times Square.

“When Mysterio came out with his whole ‘Spider-Man’s evil’ thing, I didn’t believe it. Really, that guy saved my niece from a mugging. But after this, what can you argue?” A man on the street spoke into a handheld microphone. Jonah Jameson was featured on the news station, getting an interview with high praise for having seen through the superhero’s facade from the beginning. Peter closed his eyes. It wasn’t him. He didn’t do it. He didn’t do any of this.

“—has declined to comment. There has been no sign of May Parker, Peter Parker’s aunt and legal guardian, since before the attack,” A reporter said. Footage was shown of their apartment building. He wondered what May was thinking. She knew he could never do this, right? She knew her nephew. Peter hoped so, but he wasn’t sure. He never got a chance to speak to her when everything happened. The scroll read that the death toll was 87 and expected to rise. Peter’s mouth was painfully dry.

The anchors went on with solemn expressions and mournful statements, while condemning Peter Parker and Spider-Man. Attempts had been made to reach out to everyone who might possibly know him, including students at his school. After a time, Peter heard the door unlocking. He was able to shift his hands to check the restraints holding his arms back.

Rumlow opened the door, flanked by two other agents that Peter didn’t recognize. A fourth man in a suit closed the door behind them. The suited man leaned against the wall, and Peter wondered who he was. Peter’s head whipped to the side as Rumlow punched him in the face. Yeah, he probably deserved that.

Peter didn’t say anything as he righted his head. He noticed that Rumlow had a black eye, which was weird. Had Peter hit him there and forgotten? Rumlow pulled Peter’s sleeve up and held his hand out behind him. An agent put something there, but Peter couldn’t catch what it was. No one was talking, and it was making Peter uncomfortable.

“I’m not sorry,” Peter said. Rumlow’s jaw clenched briefly before he forced it back to its passive (but still angry) position. Peter looked at the others in the room for guidance, but the agents averted their gaze. The guy in the suit, though, stared him right in the eyes. Peter’s eyes flickered back to Rumlow and saw he had a syringe. Peter tensed. He hated needles, especially ones that came from  _ him _ . The needle stung his bicep, and he felt something being injected slowly. Rumlow kept it there longer than necessary. Rumlow passed the syringe off, not taking his eyes off Peter’s face. Peter shifted. He expected more anger, honestly.

“What was that?” Peter asked. Rumlow nodded his head subtly.

“It’s a compound given to us by some foreigners, but we’re not sure if it’s safe for human consumption,” The man in the suit explained. Peter winced.

“So you’re using me as a test subject?!”

“If you live, it’ll probably be very uncomfortable,” The man responded. His calmness was unnerving. Rumlow suddenly grabbed Peter’s throat, forcing his chin up.

“I want to know if it hurts more or less when I beat the shit out of you,” Rumlow hissed.

“Hold on, Brock. Let it set in,” The man chastised. To Peter’s surprise, Rumlow slowly let go. He had bosses too, didn’t he? Peter thought back to when Rumlow had told him they decided not to wipe him like Bucky. He never asked who ‘they’ were, and now, he was afraid to ask if they’d changed their minds, lest he give them the idea.

Peter waited anxiously, unsure what he was supposed to be feeling. His heart was beating harder, but that could be the anxiety. His ears buzzed, and he stared at the projected tv instead of any of the people. His eyes unfocused, and he didn’t bother to refocus them. Not until Rumlow said something that Peter didn’t understand, and Peter blinked, but it took a moment or two for Rumlow’s face to actually become sharp.

“His eyes are dilated. Is that enough for you?” Rumlow asked the man behind him.

“Be patient,” The man said. Peter tested his restraints again, and it felt like the smoother metal cut into his skin deeper than he would expect. Why didn’t they just beat him up?

“What am I supposed to be feeling?”

“They said it was a sense enhancement drug, I think,” The man watched him intensely.

“I already have enhanced senses.”

“So you’ll know the difference.”

Peter shifted in the chair again, and his skin prickled uncomfortably. It didn’t stop. It was like the surface of his skin was asleep. After a moment, that prickle felt warm, almost hot. Peter shifted again, but that just made it worse.

“What are you feeling?” Suit asked. Peter didn’t answer. He wasn’t going to justify him with a response. However, needles were stabbing him all over, causing Peter to squirm. Each time he moved though, his stomach tried to cramp, forcing him to hunch over. Rumlow grabbed Peter’s shoulder and pushed him back up. Peter tilted his head back and tried to breathe. Rumlow’s fingers dug in so tightly that Peter thought he was tearing his skin.

“Can I start now?” Rumlow shouted, while somehow sounding like he was just speaking. Peter flinched again. He tried to focus on the suited man to see what he would say.

“Have at it.”

Rumlow smirked briefly before pulling his hand from Peter’s shoulder and punching him in the stomach. Peter yelped. It shouldn’t have hurt that much. Rumlow hit him again, and then he kept on hitting him. Peter cried out with each hit, but the pain wavered and then merged into one long string of hurt.

When Peter was able to process anything again, Rumlow was across the room, pulling something from a bucket. Peter’s hairs stood on alert as the sound of tearing Velcro made him shiver. Rumlow flicked the switch on a taser to test it.

Peter’s vision spun like a washing machine, and where the colors moved slower in the middle, he saw a pair of fingers snap. Why? What was he supposed to do about that? Anything? He— Ah right, respond. Peter jolted, causing his arms to tug on each other and pain to lance down the sides of his chest. Peter gasped for breath. What was happening?

“I can’t— too much input..,” Peter managed out. His throat felt scratchy with gauged insides, and Peter spat a piece of iron (or was it blood?) from his mouth. He immediately coughed, hunching over only for his ribs to hurt, only for him to recoil and for his stomach to hurt. He was almost glad he  _ couldn’t  _ stand.

A warbled voice said something unintelligible, but the sound banged around in Peter’s brain anyway. He closed his eyes and tensed his ears, trying to push the sound out. His face moved to the side again and Peter forced his eyes open. Rumlow, or at least someone looking like him, was moving his lips and then a knee hit Peter in the stomach. Peter felt more than heard the broken squeal escape from his throat.

Peter stared at his legs and closed his eyes again, waiting and hoping for the pain to subside. Rumlow must have decided he wasn’t any fun like this, because no more blows came for a while. At some point, Peter started to think clearly again, and he noticed that his whole body hurt. Not like a dull, aching, ‘I was hurt before’ hurt, but an active, throbbing pain on every inch of his skin. Peter clenched his eyes together and noticed that he was crying, but he didn’t know when he’d started. He didn’t really care.

He didn’t regret what he’d done. He had to at least try to get word out about what Hydra was doing. He didn’t make it, but the Avengers would go back to that 9-1-1 call and wonder. If they wondered, that might be enough. He tentatively opened his eyes to check who was still in the room. The lights blinded him for a moment, but he saw that no one had left.

“He seems recovered enough,” Rumlow declared. He walked behind Peter. No one stopped him. Peter felt hands on his own, and he realized that Rumlow meant to uncuff him. Peter’s face went red. Was he going to fuck him in front of—

Peter screamed. Rumlow had grabbed his middle finger and yanked it back, snapping it. Peter struggled in the chair, trying to get away from the pain crawling up his wrist. Rumlow grabbed his wrists and pulled him back down. He grabbed him in a loose chokehold to keep him against the hard, metal chair. Peter craned his head back uncomfortably, still shaking.

“You know how much you fucked up, you fucking bitch?” Rumlow growled into his ear. He grabbed Peter’s broken finger and twisted it, drawing another gasp from the teenager. Peter bit his lip to try and keep quiet.

Rumlow squeezed his throat. Peter flinched as the chair tilted onto just its back legs. He tried to keep still, but his instincts took over to make him struggle as he tried to breathe. The drug was making him more sensitive to everything, and the burning in his throat made way for the sting of the cuffs on his wrists and the heartbeat in his broken finger. Rumlow let go.

Peter’s chair tipped backward, and his head smacked into the floor. The arms trapped under him pulled on his shoulders and chest. Rumlow kicked him in the side and then placed his foot on Peter’s stomach. Peter stared up at him with wide, barely-focused eyes. He  _ knew _ he was fucked.

Rumlow grabbed the side of the chair and literally threw Peter and the chair into the wall. Peter cried out as his arm was squished between the wall and chair, and he felt his hips shifting as the chair broke. It didn’t change the fact that Peter was tied to pieces of metal. Rumlow leaned down and snapped off one of the chairs back legs.

He whacked Peter in the chest with it, leaving rectangle shaped bruises and welts under the torn shirt. Peter wheezed and tried to shift, but he couldn’t figure out how to move when he was still bound to a half-broken shape. The side of the chair dug into his right arm, and his left arm was trapped between the other side and Rumlow’s weapon.

Rumlow kept on hitting him, swinging the chair leg relentlessly. Peter tried to tuck his face into his right shoulder to protect it, but he felt blows all over anyway. He knew something else had broken, but Rumlow didn’t care. He didn’t care that Peter was bringing his knees to his stomach to try and save himself. He didn’t care that Peter’s leg shot out and yanked against the restraints when Rumlow hit his knee. He didn’t care that Peter had stopped making noise. When Rumlow hit his hip again, the metal chair leg actually snapped in half. Rumlow tossed it aside and grabbed a different piece of metal.

“Brock, you’re going to kill him,” The suited man said. Peter wanted to kiss him. Thank god. He looked up at Rumlow with shiny eyes.  _ Please… please… _ He didn’t think he could take much more. Rumlow scoffed and angrily tossed his new weapon to the side. Peter flinched, but the cool wave of relief that hit him was almost enough to distract him from the pain. That was, until Rumlow kicked him in the balls. Peter yelped and curled inward. Rumlow finally walked away from him.

Rumlow rubbed the sweat off his jaw with the back of his hand. A knock came from the door. An agent leaned out and spoke to someone. Peter didn’t really catch what they said until the message was passed to Rumlow.

“—want to see you,” The agent told Rumlow. Rumlow tensed and looked over his shoulder. He scowled.

“Pick him up,” Rumlow ordered, and just like that, he was gone. 

* * *

When Rumlow re-entered the room, Peter was in a new chair and much more aware. He shifted uncomfortably as Rumlow came closer to him and then behind him. Peter craned his neck to try to see behind him. He felt a hand on his arm and quickly curled his hands into fists, trying to shield his fingers. He waited for Rumlow to pry them open. Instead, the man uncuffed him.

“Don’t,” Rumlow warned. Peter stayed still until Rumlow grabbed a bruise on his bicep and pulled him to his feet. Peter stumbled after him in surprise as they went around the cell level to the elevator. Were they done already? He expected more. He had fucked up, like… a lot.

Rumlow stared at the steel doors of the elevator. Peter eyed him carefully, noticing his clenched fists and popping veins. He looked ready to launch into a red hot fury, and this time, no one was around to stop him from killing Peter. Maybe they weren’t done. Peter wasn’t going to ask. He just swallowed and stepped into the elevator when it arrived.

Rumlow put a hand on the back of Peter’s neck once they got to his floor, making sure the vigilante didn’t sprint off again. He pushed Peter inside his room. Peter stumbled but caught himself on the desk. The clutching reflex made his middle finger feel like it was being stabbed by a thousand needles at once. Peter hissed and turned around to face Rumlow. The man shut the door and started undoing his belt. Peter’s face dropped.

“No!” Peter backed against the desk, looking for anything he could throw. There was a water bottle and some pens, but that would just piss him off, not stop him.

“Oh, yes,” Rumlow grumbled. “You owe me.”

“I don’t owe you shit!” Peter snapped. He noticed a pair of handcuffs hiding under the water bottle. He lunged for them. Rumlow dove after him, knocking them both into the desk and onto the floor.

Peter managed to get one of the cuffs around Rumlow’s wrists and struggled to grab the other. Rumlow grabbed the chain of the cuffs and pulled. Peter fell off balance, and Rumlow shoved him over. Peter stopped his face from smacking the floor with his arm, but his other side was now cuffed. He was handcuffed to Rumlow. Peter looked at the short chain in surprise. How?

“Dumbass,” Rumlow growled. Before Peter could get up, Rumlow elbowed his spine and pinned Peter down. Peter tried to get back up, but his healthy hand was the one being pulled behind his back. Rumlow grabbed it with both hands and pulled. His arm popped out of its socket. Peter yelped and struggled underneath the man. “Stay down,” Rumlow warned.

“Get off of me!” Peter yelled. Rumlow smacked him in the back of the head, which was still sensitive from earlier. Rumlow pressed the dislocated arm against Peter’s lower back as Peter’s other hand searched for any kind of purchase he could get. He wasn’t finding any. Rumlow twisted the dislocated arm until Peter squirmed in pain underneath him. That only made it worse.

“I was gonna put you on the bed, maybe even use lube, but you don’t even deserve that,” Rumlow huffed angrily. He wrestled Peter’s pants down over his ass. Peter tried to pull himself away with his good elbow. Rumlow slammed his face into the ground before taking his hand back to get himself out of his pants. Peter struggled as violently as he could, but he couldn’t get the leverage he needed, not down both an arm and a hand, and with his ribs (one or two of which was probably broken) protesting his every move. He still fought. This wasn’t fair. The good guys weren’t supposed to... he wasn’t supposed to lose like this. Not again.

Peter groaned in pain when Rumlow pushed into him. He was bone dry, and Rumlow probably would’ve hurt even if he wasn’t. Rumlow didn’t care even a bit, forcing himself on the boy and beginning to fuck him as soon as he got him loose enough. Peter kept trying to grab behind him, but Rumlow kept letting go of Peter’s hip just to smack his hand away by the broken finger. Peter tried to squirm out from under him. 

“Yeah, keep fucking trying. It makes a more exciting fuck,” Rumlow goaded. Peter gritted his teeth and tried to at least relax the lower half of his body. Rumlow just praised him for letting him get in deeper. Peter’s face was red with anger and embarrassment.

“Get off!” He shouted again. 

“Why? You fucking deserve this,” Rumlow pressed his face into the floor and leaned over him. Peter felt the world closing in as his personal space was further taken away. He breathed heavily, trying to keep his head on straight. He couldn’t. “After all, you carried out a terrorist attack. I’m doing my duty as a citizen.”

“No,” Peter denied. Rumlow was wrong. They both knew it was wrong.

“It wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t run off,” Rumlow thrust in particularly hard, and Peter stifled a sound. He was just trying to get inside Peter’s head. It was working. Even if it wasn’t his fault, Peter still felt the shame for letting it happen. He should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy. He didn’t know what to say to even begin making up for it.

“I wonder what they would think now, if they saw the hero they used to worship,” Rumlow goaded. Peter tried to shake his head. He already knew. They would think it was pitiful, but he didn’t have any farther to fall. Rumlow started to chuckle, but it was cut off by a groan, and Peter felt Rumlow’s thighs against his ass. Rumlow stayed there and rolled his hips to ride out his orgasm. Peter waited.

Finally, Rumlow pulled out of him, but he left Peter on the floor. Rumlow dropped onto his bed and pulled out his phone. Peter took a deep breath. He rolled over onto his side, groaning as it aggravated his broken body. He needed someone to pop his arm back in. He’d never done it alone. He looked at Rumlow. No, he wasn’t asking. Never.

Peter squirmed, trying and eventually succeeding in pulling his pants up with his four functioning fingers. Peter stayed on his side. Rumlow didn’t seem interested in him at the moment, and Peter was too scared to change that. He closed his eyes. He’d failed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First scene: non-consensual drug use, human experimentation, beatings, broken bones  
> After the line break: non-con, dislocation of limb


	11. Hold Me Down

Peter woke up when Rumlow’s alarm went off. He forced his eyes open and squinted against the light they’d left on. His now-dislocated left arm was still handcuffed to Rumlow’s own left arm. The man himself was sleeping on his stomach, arm hanging off the bed to accommodate Peter. Peter struggled to a sitting position by pushing on his right hand, the middle finger of which sent pain up all the way up to his elbow. Rumlow stirred and reached out to turn off his phone. It wasn’t on the sidetable. It was on Peter’s other side, where he’d left his pants from the day before.

Rumlow got up, and Peter was glad he’d already sat up, because the man showed no sign of pausing to help Peter as he walked to grab his phone. Peter scrambled to crawl after him. Rumlow swiped his phone open and hit a contact. He scowled down at Peter as it rang.

“Hey, Micheal. Got a handcuff problem. Come up to my room with ghost keys,” Rumlow said flatly. There was a short response, and Rumlow rested a shoulder against the wall as they waited, scrolling through something on his phone. Peter fell onto his butt and pulled his knees to his chest. He didn’t speak. He didn’t want to poke the bear. Less than a few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Rumlow unlocked it with his free hand.

The assistant, maybe not more than a few years older than Peter, looked surprised to see the predicament. If it were anyone else, it’d probably be laughable, but based on the way he swung wide of Rumlow as he entered, Peter didn’t think he was going to comment. He unlocked the cuff on Rumlow’s wrist first, then leaned down to get Peter’s. Peter’s arm gave off a tingling, numb sensation as it was lifted in order to be freed. He let it drop back into his lap.

“You can go,” Rumlow dismissed, closing the door after him. Rumlow looked at the pair of handcuffs that had been left in his hands. He grabbed one end and whipped the other across Peter’s face. Peter tried to dodge it, but he was much too slow and only served to fall back onto his right elbow. He let his left arm stay across his stomach, moving minimally. Peter wanted to yell at him, but he kept it in with clenched teeth.

“Let’s go,” Rumlow said, opening the door. Peter got up in a huff, rubbing his cheek with the back of his hand as they walked out of the room. They were about halfway to the elevator when the hairs on Peter’s neck tickled. Peter turned his head, wondering what the threat was, and Rumlow was a lot closer than he’d been before. Peter opened his mouth, but Rumlow acted too quickly.

He grabbed the boy’s left wrist, and Peter instinctively tried to pull it back, but before he could even apply much force, Rumlow was yanking him by the dislocated arm, his other hand shoving Peter’s shoulder, hard. Peter slammed into the wall and heard a clunk come from his shoulder.

Peter yelped at the sudden pain, pins and needles surrounding his shoulder, but there was a strange relief to it, too. His shoulder was back in place. He looked at Rumlow warily. The word ‘thanks’ reached the tip of his tongue before Peter clenched his teeth shut. He wasn’t going to give him any satisfaction or any impression that he was in debt. He wouldn’t be thanking Hydra anytime soon.

The day passed slowly, but uneventfully. Rumlow fed him minimally, and he seemed to enjoy casually shoving Peter into things as often as possible. Walls, tables, vending machines, trash cans… anything that might hurt his tender limb. Based on his other soreness, Peter had deduced that a couple of his ribs were broken or bruised, but he didn’t need extra medical help there. His main concern was his finger. As the hours passed, he watched it heal incorrectly, crookedly. At one point, he did consider asking to have it properly set, but he still didn’t want to ask Rumlow for  _ anything _ , and indecision turned into inaction. He went to bed that night with his hands carefully folded on his stomach, trying to find some semblance of peace on the concrete floor. 

* * *

It was quiet up until 4am. Rumlow’s phone had been buzzing, but he hadn’t woken up. Peter had just decided after some debate not to wake the man when there was a knock on the door that managed to get through. Rumlow answered it in his briefs and wife beater, and again, he would’ve stepped on Peter had the teen not scooted out of the way. The man there glanced at Peter and leaned forward to whisper in Rumlow’s ear.

“I’m coming,” Rumlow answered. He grabbed a pair of pants out of the drawer and pulled them on before brisking past Peter. To Peter’s disappointment, he remembered to grab his phone. “Stay.” He ordered Peter like a dog, and then he was gone. Peter stared at the door for some while after he left, wondering if Rumlow was coming back for him, but eventually, he fell back asleep.

* * *

A buzzer went off, at a low frequency but loud volume, startling Peter out of his sleep. It sounded intermittently, like an alarm but not as urgent. Peter counted three seconds between the blares. After a minute, it stopped, and Peter heard a warbled voice speaking over the intercom in the hallway. He walked on his knees over to the door and pressed his ear against it.

“—until further notice for security purposes. Transgressions will be met with deadly force. No transmissions of any kind within or out of the base, except for approved radios. Every guest must stay in their room until further notice for security purposes. Transgressions will be met with deadly force…” Peter sat back as he realized the message was repeating, but his heart was racing. Were they locking down the base? He felt a stir in his chest, a little nibble of hope. Had the Avengers tracked them down? Maybe they had followed a trail back here from New York. Was Hydra dumb enough to leave a trail? Maybe they weren’t-- they just hadn’t covered it up well enough.

Peter sat down where he could rest his head against the door to listen continuously. He thought he might hear gunfire, or blasters, or shouting, but it was quiet. He stayed anyway, closing his eyes to focus even more. Eventually, Peter heard a pair of footsteps, one particularly heavy and not human-sounding pass by, but that was it. The world was as quiet as it had been before the buzzer.

Peter turned and rested his back against the door. He sat there, waiting. When Rumlow came back, he had that subtle scowl that signaled he was pissed off. Peter thought of all the slaps and the kicks and the punches that had followed such looks, and he waited until he was out of range to speak up.

“What’s going on?” He asked. Rumlow rummaged through the drawers of his desk, loading his cargo pants with little tools and gadgets.

“Get up,” Rumlow said. Peter carefully got to his feet, still staying out of his reach. All the weapons… he looked like he was preparing to fight.

“They found me,” Peter said, hope swelling in his chest. The Avengers found them. They’d found the base! They were coming for him. Rumlow shook his head.

“Doesn’t that dreamy attitude get tiring?” He asked. He grabbed a box of bullets and loaded an extra mag. He put both into his pockets. “They didn’t find you, or even  _ us _ . They found one of our satellite bases. We’re just locking down until we get an all-clear.”

Peter’s shoulders drooped. Oh. But hey, something at the other base might lead to the main one, right? He rolled his shoulders back. He was going to stay strong. “They’ll track us down.”

“Maybe,” Rumlow huffed. “I don’t think you want that.”

“Why?” Peter asked.

“They think you killed over hundred people,” Rumlow reminded. Peter swallowed.

“But it wasn’t me,” Peter said.

“Are you going to keep stating the obvious or shut up?” Rumlow hissed. Peter frowned, and he felt the need to keep talking.

“They’ll know I was framed. We’ll work it out,” Peter insisted. Rumlow closed his desk drawer harshly, and Peter flinched back.

“Don’t be so sure. If they come in here, they’re gonna be shooting to kill,” Rumlow said. He grabbed Peter’s shoulder and maneuvered him outside to watch the panopticon. Peter’s brain was starting to kick into gear as he woke up further, and his mind took off. What if they did think it was him? He didn’t know what proof he had otherwise. He had no clue where Edith was. If he peacefully surrendered, that would help, but if Rumlow started shooting first… he eyed the man next to him, who was leaning against the railing, watching for any unexpected motion below.

If they came, he’d need to be able to take down Rumlow  _ and _ dodge the Avengers long enough to surrender. It wouldn’t be easy. He needed to be ready. “I’m hungry.”

Rumlow didn’t offer a response, and Peter wondered if he’d been heard. He waited a minute and tried again. “Can I have some food?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not a dumbass,” Rumlow said.

“I need to be able to fight,” Peter reasoned. He tried to find a reason that benefitted Rumlow. “You’ll need my help against them.”

“I need you to be able to run,” Rumlow corrected.

“If I’m going to survive long enough for us to talk—“ Peter was cut off by the man abruptly turning to face him. He flinched back again, purely on instinct, and he instantly felt the shame flaring in his face.

“Keep talking,” Rumlow challenged. Peter grit his teeth, fighting the urge to spit in Rumlow’s face. He held back. He needed to save it. Rumlow settled back against the railing, and Peter, knowing he wasn’t going to get anywhere at the moment, rested his arms on one of the cables.

* * *

Several hours later, Peter was leaning heavily on the railing, his eyes drooping as he threatened to drift off. A loud beep pulled him back to awareness, and an alarm started to play. This time, the beeps were higher pitched and more urgent, and the lights flashed red.

“Fuck,” Rumlow growled. Peter started to straighten up, but the man grabbed his hair and pushed him back over the railing, shoving the barrel of his gun against the back of his head.

“Listen carefully, Parker,” Rumlow hissed. “You’re going to walk ahead of me, and if you put a toe out of line, I  _ will _ shoot you. Even if they  _ are _ trying to rescue you, you’ll bleed out before they can. Nod for me.” Peter nodded, and Rumlow slowly released him.

“Elevator. Hands on the back of your head,” Rumlow ordered. Peter straightened up and started to walk forward, his mind zooming through different possibilities. He felt a bit queasy from what was probably malnutrition, but he could probably function. Could he turn fast enough to grab the gun? He’d gotten shot before, but, before he didn’t have the abilities he’d discovered in Europe and developed since. He should be able to dodge it, now.

“Don’t try anything,” Rumlow said, as if reading his mind. He reached past Peter to call the elevator. Commotion was starting to go on down in the commons below. The elevator opened, and Peter stepped in. Rumlow hit a combination of buttons, and the elevator slowly went down. When the doors opened again, they were on a floor Peter hadn’t been to before, and he’d been to all the floors. He glanced at his captor warily.

“To your left. The grate,” Rumlow said. Peter went to the grate and looked down. It was a passageway. He didn’t need to be told to open it, but his ears picked up the pops of gunfire above them.

“We’re just leaving them?” Peter asked. What about Rumlow’s coworkers? His bosses?

“Get in,” Rumlow kept his eyes trained on Peter. Peter looked back at him.

“But don’t you have to protect—“

“—our assets,” Rumlow finished. He motioned to the open grate with his gun. “Go.” Peter swallowed and jumped down.

They walked through the hidden tunnel until they came to a door. Peter turned the wheel and pressed against it, but it didn’t open easily. Peter pressed against it a little harder, and it nudged just slightly. Rumlow put a hand there to help, and Peter drove his good shoulder into the metal. They pushed the door partially open into a solid few feet of piled up snow, and the secret door was almost blocked by trees. The blast of cold air hit Peter in the face, and his arm covered itself with goosebumps.

“Let’s go,” Rumlow insisted. Peter braced himself and vaulted over the snow piled in front of him. It simultaneously burned and cooled his messed up finger, but he ignored it. He and Rumlow started walking through the trees, and Peter no longer heard shooting. He looked back behind them, but he couldn’t see far.

“Get down!” Rumlow hissed. He grabbed Peter’s arm and pulled him down, hiding them both behind the snowbank that lined the nearby asphalt road. Peter peeked over and saw a few Shield agents walking toward the mountain, heavily armed and armored. This was his chance. He opened his mouth. Rumlow slammed his arm across Peter’s collarbone, pressing him into the snow. He pressed the gun into Peter’s temple.

“Make a sound, and I swear, I will blow your fucking brains out,” Rumlow whispered. The look in his eyes was clear. If Peter made this jump, he wasn’t going to make it alive. Peter closed his eyes.


	12. Snow Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumlow and Peter try to escape the compromised area.

Rumlow held his gun against Peter’s head as they leaned against the snowbank. It was nearly silent, the sole exception being the crunchy footsteps of the Shield agents headed into the base. Peter felt the melting snow seeping through his shoes as they hid, and his mind raced. If he could get the gun away, they would hear it, and the team could be here in under a minute. Peter opened his eyes and looked up at Rumlow, who was peering over the top of the bank. Rumlow felt Peter looking at him and tightened his grip on his gun. The agents were out of earshot now, and moving was risky, but the longer they waited, the more Shield would swarm the base.

“Stay quiet,” Rumlow growled. He switched his grip to grab Peter by the collar and dragged him up. He pushed Peter ahead of him with the gun pressed into his lower back, getting them quickly across the road and into the woods. They walked like that for a distance, Rumlow consistently looking back to make sure they weren’t being followed. When they were well out of sight, Rumlow let go of Peter’s thin shirt. “Walk straight. Don’t turn around.”

“What? Are we going to just walk off and freeze to death?” Peter challenged.

“Go,” Rumlow hissed. He was furious, and Peter wanted so badly to take advantage of that, but he couldn’t look behind him to figure out how to attack. Peter started forward. As they walked, a wind blew, and although it was gentle, it was frigid. Rumlow had a leather jacket, but Peter only had his cargo pants and a thin t-shirt. He wrapped his arms around himself.

“How far are we going?” He asked, turning back to Rumlow as part of speaking. It was a naturally disguised action, but the man clicked his safety off anyways. Peter heard the quiet click and stilled.

“Just go,” Rumlow said. Peter grit his teeth. Rumlow was about 10 feet away from him, too far for Peter to reach in one lunge, but too close for Peter to make a safe breakaway. Peter tried to shift his path right a little, always stepping to the right of a tree when one was in his way. He hoped it wasn’t super obvious, but he was trying to stay closer to the base. If the Avengers’ scanners were strong enough, maybe they would find him.

Peter’s ears picked up the sound of an engine, and he looked up. It took him a second to process what he was seeing. It was the Guardians’ ship from Titan.  Peter felt a sense of relief, but also a sense of dread. The Guardians definitely had the equipment to detect him, but why did the others feel the need to call them in? It was unlikely they just happened by, considering that they patrolled the whole universe… Peter looked to see what Rumlow’s reaction was, and the man was also looking up, although it was more calculating than surprised. Peter realized that Rumlow had probably never seen it before. He also realized that Rumlow was looking at the spaceship, not at him. Peter lurched.

Rumlow saw the beginning of a movement and swung to face Peter again, but Peter was too far ahead of him. He kicked Rumlow back by the shoulder, causing the gun to fall out of the man’s hand, and he used the nape of Rumlow’s neck as a stepping point to jump toward the lower limb of the tree behind him. Rumlow swore, directing his fall toward the gun. The man grabbed it and spun onto his back, but Peter had already scrambled to the opposite side of the thick trunk, feet resting on a big branch to stay steady. He craned his neck to see around the other side.

“Get down,” Rumlow ordered.

“Make me.”

“Peter…”

“What are you going to do, shoot me?” Peter challenged. Rumlow’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“If I do, I won’t miss,” Rumlow promised.

“They’ll hear the shot,” Peter reasoned. “Or a sensor will. They’ll come running.”

“And you’ll bleed out before they get here,” Rumlow said. Peter gave a choked laugh.

“That might be preferable to running off into the sunset with  _ you _ ,” Peter said. “They found your HQ. Hydra’s done.”

“It ain’t that simple, kid,” Rumlow shook his head. “Even if you wish it were. You’re ours.”

“I’m not anyone’s!” Peter hissed. “You don’t own me, and you won’t!”

“You’ve been doing well so far,” Rumlow pointed out. “Cooperating, helping… you could have a long, solid life if I don’t shoot you now.”

“What’s the point, if it isn’t  _ my _ life to live?” Peter snapped. Rumlow laughed.

“You’re obnoxiously naive. Shut up and get over it,” He took a quiet step to the right. “You think you can throw a few punches and save the world. The world doesn’t even want you… We made it that way. We can keep it that way.”

“You won’t,” Peter said firmly. He wouldn’t let them. He’d find a way out. He had a way out, now. He just had to hold on for a little bit longer. Rumlow was quiet for a moment, and he took another small step to the side. He could see the edge of Peter’s shoulder. He tilted his gun in the right direction.

A branch snapped to their left. Instinctively, Rumlow turned and fired. Peter flinched, but when he didn’t feel any pain… 30 feet away, a Hydra agent fell to the ground with a shout.

“Fuck!” Rumlow hissed. The agent had caught them off guard, and he’d gotten shot as a result. Peter should’ve felt guilt, but all he think of was his opening. He curved around the tree and sprung for Rumlow. Peter tackled him to the ground, knocking the gun away. Rumlow grunted and swung his arm up, hitting Peter in the side. The half-healed ribs burst up in pain, and Rumlow was able to roll them over, now pinning Peter in the snow. Peter kneed the man as hard as he could from behind, sending him up and over his head. Peter rolled onto his hands and knees as Rumlow recovered.

Rumlow got to his feet, and Peter brought his arms up to block the kick that was aimed for his chest. On the uneven ground, it threw him off balance, and his hand flew behind him to sink into the snow and hit one of the tree’s roots. Pain laced up his forearm. Rumlow kneed Peter in the face, and Peter fell over. The man pounced on top of him, pressing Peter down again and digging his thumbs into his throat.

Peter grabbed at the wrists holding his throat and pulled, but Rumlow had more leverage and Peter came up short. He tilted his head back in search of more air. Peter thrashed on the ground, his flexible legs hitting Rumlow’s back along with a quick punch to the chin, but Rumlow’s grip only tightened. Peter wheezed. He grabbed a handful of snow and threw it in Rumlow’s face. The hands loosened slightly this time as Rumlow tried to shake the snow out of his eyes, and Peter tried to slip out from under him, but Rumlow brought his hand down on the teenager’s stomach. He grabbed the plush skin and squeezed, pressing against Peter’s organs. Peter grunted and writhed in the snow.

Rumlow paused briefly, his ears picking up the sound of an approaching  _ something _ . Not a full ship, but something else. He pulled his grip from Peter’s throat and then jabbed his neck with the side of his hand, making Peter unable to breathe for a brief moment. He looked up, just in time to see someone flying at him.

A jet-packed Starlord gloriously kicked Rumlow off of Peter before landing with a gun aimed at the man’s face. Peter wheezed, getting onto his hands and knees. Starlord has Rumlow pinned, but Peter needed to make sure he stayed down. Peter started to get up.

“Oh no you don’t!” Rocket tsked. Something sharp hit Peter in the neck, and as he reached for it, electricity surged through his body. Peter cried out and fell back down. He rolled over in the snow, using one hand to try and push himself up. He was shocked again, and his arm gave out.

“We got ‘em.” Starlord said.

Peter didn’t even know how to start thanking them. He swung his legs under him to sit sideways, but then a green lady appeared in his vision, brandishing a knife.

“Don’t you dare,” She snarled. Peter frowned and watched her walk past. What? He glanced at Rumlow. The man wasn’t moving.

“Where’s Rhodes?” Peter asked,

“Impaled by a shrapnel bomb,” Starlord answered. He demasked and glared at Peter. “I thought you’d know that, since you did it.” Peter paled. Rhodes was hurt? Was he alive?

“No, no! That wasn’t me! They framed me. I--” The woman cut him off with a wave of her hand, and it was clear no one was going to listen. Peter knew he wasn’t going to make progress. Not here or now. He quickly held his hands out. “You can cuff me. I’m good. I promise.”

The woman exchanged glances with Starlord, who shrugged. She tossed a pair of handcuffs to Rocket before leaning down to cuff Rumlow. Strangely, he let her. Peter frowned. Why wasn’t he fighting them? He heard a rustle beside him and held his hands out, keeping them relaxed to show he wasn’t going to resist. Rocket closed the cuffs around Peter’s wrists, making them just a bit too tight. Peter looked at him in concern. Did the others really think he was bad? Like Rumlow said?

Peter heard the sound of something powering down and saw Falcon striding toward him. Peter looked at his face, trying to guess what his thoughts on everything were. The glare wasn’t a good sign. Falcon grabbed Peter by the shirt, pulling him to his feet and roughly shoving him against the tree trunk. “You have some explaining to do.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter said immediately. He shouldn’t have snuck out. Then Rhodey wouldn’t be-- “Is Rhodey ok?”

“No thanks to you,” Sam said. His voice was cold, but Peter felt a sense of relief all the same. Rhodes wasn’t dead, then. The green-skinned lady appeared next to them, brushing Sam away from Peter and taking Peter’s arm.

“Let’s get them on the Milano first,” She said. Sam crossed his arms as she started to lead Peter away. Peter looked over his shoulder worriedly.

“Do you want to walk, or do you want to be dragged?” Quill asked Rumlow.

“I’ll walk,” Rumlow said calmly. He got to his feet and let Quill move alongside him at gunpoint. Rumlow’s eyes met Peter’s, but they had a weird glint in them. The man smirked.


End file.
